Lalaith's Younger Years
by LalaithElerrina
Summary: While young Bilbo Baggins endured all he did with Thorin and his other Dwarven companions during the time of The Hobbit, Lalaith, the young friend of Prince Legolas, had a few adventures of her own...
1. Chapter 1

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 1**

**December 5, 2003**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

Lalaith's Younger Years

Chapter 1

(2 centuries before the War of the Ring)

Lalaith leaned over the balustrade that edged the portico above the arched gate, impatiently seeking for some sign of the Mirkwood Elves who were to arrive today. Within her shifting hands, she held her new quiver gifted to her by her uncle Elrond, and laden with arrows, two shining knives, and a bow, similar to those carried by her dearest friend, the son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood, Prince Legolas, who was to arrive today. Yet he was not here, yet. Where was he?

"Patience, young one." A voice, soft and deep echoed behind her, and she turned smiling to see the warm eyes of Lord Glorfindel as he strode near, his golden hair flowing lightly behind him in a soft breeze as it lapped lightly along the walkway. "He will be here, soon."

"My lord." Lalaith murmured, dropping in a curtsey as she gave him a smile. "I _am_ rather impatient, I know. But it has been several years since I have seen Prince Legolas last."

"Yes, indeed it has." Glorfindel smiled gently, stopping beside her.

Lalaith returned the smile, and turned her eyes to follow Glorfindel's gaze as he looked over the courtyard, as if he too, sought for some sign of the coming Mirkwood contingent. The years between their ages were vast, and Lord Glorfindel had seen the glory of Valinor yet by the mercy of the Valar had returned. But for some reason even she did not entirely understand, Lalaith did not feel awe at his presence as so many of the other younger elves of Imladris did. Indeed, his presence to her was comforting, almost as if he carried an essence about him that reminded her of something familiar and dear, yet long forgotten.

"It does my heart good to see you happy, young one." Glorfindel finished with a smile that turned at the corners of his eyes. "And while your heart is always merry, you seem all the more radiant whenever you are anticipating meeting Prince Legolas once again."

Lalaith smiled at his statement, and could not deny that it was so. Since she had heard from her uncle Elrond that he would be coming, she had sung through her days, dancing everywhere she went, hardly able to sit still for anything, so great had her anticipation been. But that was to be expected, was it not? Legolas was her greatest friend for as long as she had been alive. It had been his arrows, and his slender white knives that had slain the wargs and their orc riders that had meant to slay her and her mortal nurse. It was because of him that the orcs had killed only her nurse, and the answers to her past along with the mortal woman's death. She owed him her life. She had looked up to him for as long as she had known him, thinking of him as her friend, as an older brother from the moments of her first memory. And though the sight of him, especially for these past centuries had begun to twinge strangely upon the strings of her heart, she still loved him dearly. That was one thing she was and had always been certain of.

Legolas lifted his eyes to the high smiled in eager anticipation as the cool scent of the falls of Rivendell came wafting over his company of woodland Elves in welcome to their arrival. It had been over a decade since he had last come to Imladris, but it felt like more than a century.

Lalaith, his fair young friend had reached maturity many centuries before, so there would be little change in her appearance. Yet he would swear that every time he saw her, she seemed more beautiful than before. The shadow of the arching gateway passed over his head, bringing into his sight the sweeping view of Elrond's Homely House. Servants were waiting to see to his horse and the horses of his companions, and he leapt swiftly from his mount's back as his eyes lifted eagerly. Lalaith would be waiting for him, he hoped as he scanned the balustrade above him, eagerly seeking for her bright face along the porch that looked down upon the gateway. He saw Lord Elrond's two twin sons, and lifted a hand in greeting. The two male Elves returned the greeting, though theirs were drawn into knowing smirks. Legolas shook his head to himself, wondering if perhaps Lalaith's cousins guessed at the true nature of his visit. Yes, he could use the excuse that his father sent him once again as an emissary of goodwill between the Elven Realms of Imladris and Mirkwood, yet within his heart, he knew that he wished to come for one reason alone. And that reason was Lalaith.

He had known her from her infancy, for he had been the one to save her. He had slain the five wargs and orcs that had been after her and her mortal nurse, and had carried her back to his home, repeating to his parents and the astonished Elves of Mirkwood the charge the dying mortal woman had given him to return the baby to Imladris. For the first hundred years of her life, she had been but a child, as a little sister to him. But then, as all living things do, she had grown up. She had been a woman for over a thousand years now, and the friendship that had been forged the night he had lifted her tiny infant body from the arms of her dying nurse was as strong as ever. And though his feelings for her had become confused, and had remained so for over a thousand years, one thing he was yet certain of. She was dearer to him than anything or anyone he had ever known. She had always been. Her happiness mattered more to him than his own, and he would do anything to add joy to her life.

"Legolas!" A joyful cry erupted from nearer to him than he expected, and his eyes dropped to a bright figure, barefoot and clad in soft blue, flying toward him like a swift young bird, and he smiled as Lalaith drew to a breathless stop in front of him, her eyes shining with happiness, her face flushed.

"Legolas, see?" She chirped proudly, holding out something she had been carrying eagerly in her hand for his inspection.

"What is this?" He asked, his eyes flitting from her bright face sparkling with greeting to the quiver in her hand. It was laden with arrows of Imladris, and a bow, and two long handled knives peered up from the places fashioned for them to rest within when not in use.

"My quiver. Just like yours!" Lalaith announced proudly, nodding at the quiver upon Legolas' back. "A gift from Uncle Elrond."

Legolas smiled, not certain what to think. _A weapon bearing maiden_? He wondered within his mind. _And Lalaith at that_? But to see the flush of bright pride on the fair maiden's face, Legolas did not have the heart to speak his doubting thoughts. Elrond, her guardian clearly approved, if he was the one who had gifted the gear to her. And she would be a capable warrior in her own right if she were to be given the proper instruction. Though, he quelled at the thought, he hoped she would never be called upon to use such weapons against a foe.

"Now, you shall have to teach me all you know, my friend." She announced proudly, her eyes dancing with excitement. "Even my uncle admits that I am no longer a child. I am a woman now, and no longer can you deny it, Legolas."

"I cannot deny it." He agreed readily, casting his doubts aside. His heart leaped hard and fast, and he wondered at these new, exciting feelings that tumbled through his heart as he gazed upon her fair form. She had been a child once, in centuries past, but she was a child no longer. His eyes met hers, and he had forced a playful grin upon his face. "Never have I been able to deny you anything, Lalaith. You know this."

She laughed then, her bright, silvery laugh he had always loved. And his grin widened in return as she came forward to embrace him, throwing her arms around his neck as she had so many times before. His own arms went around her narrow waist, and he drew her close for a moment, his heart leaping as he felt the soft press of her youthful body against his chest, and felt her cool, quick breath against his neck. What was wrong with him?

"Come, Legolas." Lalaith offered cheerfully, drawing back far sooner than Legolas wished her to. "My uncle is waiting to see you."

"Lalaith, wait." He protested, his hand within hers preventing her from departing too quickly as he drew her back to him.

"What is it?" She asked, her eyes filled with innocent questions as he gazed down into her dear, beloved face.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. Instead, he drew a step closer to her, and bent his head, brushing his lips softly across her cool, smooth brow.

"What was that for?" She asked with a smile that made her eyes sparkle, and gently wrinkled her pert little nose.

"I've missed you." He finally managed to murmur.

_I'd like to explore Lalaith's younger years and what her relationship with Legolas was like then, when they were just finding out how they really felt about each other. If you would like me to, I'll continue this, with appearances from Haldir and Lothirien, too._


	2. Chapter 2

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 2**

**December 6, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 2

"Good, Lalaith!" Legolas praised, stepping back after having disarmed her for the fifth time that morning.

"What do you mean, _good_?" Lalaith moaned, cradling her still stinging hand against her. Moments before, Legolas had deftly clipped the haft from her hand, spinning her knife away into the bushes of the glade where they practiced not far from one of the many roaring falls. They were so near the falls, that the spray from the pouring water hung about them like an ever present silver mist that lingered eternally in the air.

Lalaith glanced down, seeing a bright spot of red on the tip of her thumb. Legolas had inadvertently cut her, though it was only a small wound, and she knew it had not been what he intended. He would be mortified if he knew what he had done, so she clenched her fingers around her wounded thumb, hiding it within her fist.

"You have disarmed me every time we have practiced, ever since you came here three days ago." She continued. "And I know you are not using full strength against me." Of course, she admitted to herself, he was exerting himself more than he had that first day. She could tell by the swift rise and fall of his lean, muscled chest beneath the thin cloth of his tunic.

Watching the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, made her heart flip about like a newly caught fish, and she shook her head to herself, glancing away.

"You have improved much since my arrival the day before yesterday." Legolas countered with a grin. "That is what matters."

He replaced his knives, spinning them with graceful finesse as he resheathed them in his quiver before he added, "And in only two days, your bowmanship already rivals mine."

"Ha!" The laugh burst out of Lalaith's throat a little more forcefully than she had intended, and she turned quickly away, making an effort to seek out her lost knife instead of allowing herself to become distracted by Legolas' every move. Of course, even turned away from him, she could still see in her mind's eye, the grace of motion that was his as he instructed and demonstrated various moves and tactics with his long white knives. Perhaps she would not have been disarmed so quickly, she reprimanded herself, had she had an eye for Legolas' technique, rather than for Legolas, himself.

"What?" He asked to her back, laughter in his voice. "You do not think so?"

"It will take me centuries, Legolas, before I can even hope to rival you with either my knives or my bow." She asked, pretending to glance about in the bushes for her knife, though she was ever aware of him near her back. "You have been doing this for millennia. And I-,"

"You are a quick learner." Legolas cut in swiftly, though gently, and she turned to see him standing near, his fists resting casually on his hips as he watched her with a slender grin and warm eyes. "Though you _could_ improve your concentration."

She straightened, and turned swiftly toward him, feeling a warm flush rising to her cheeks. "What do you mean by that?" Had he guessed that the greater part of her concentration was indeed focused on something other than the skills he was trying to teach her?

"Well," Legolas' grin widened as he rubbed his smooth, firm jaw with a finger, "first of all, your knife flew over there," he chuckled softly and pointed over his shoulder across the clearing, "not there." He nodded at the bushes she had been absently searching through.

"Oh." She said, her voice suddenly very small. She could feel a warm red blush creeping over her face now. Without looking at him, she crossed the clearing, immediately finding the shining haft of her knife sticking up through the plaited branches of a low, leafy bush and drew it out, hefting its weight in her hand before she replaced it in the quiver upon her back. She did not immediately turn back to face him, though, and instead glanced down at her still fisted hand. Seeing the playful grin on Legolas' face made Lalaith wonder if he had somehow guessed why it was difficult for her to concentrate, and was amused. She was just a child to him, a little sister, and nothing more. She would never be anything more to him. He was a great prince after all, and she was no one. It was true she was treated like a princess, having been raised in Elrond's house, but she was not Elrond's daughter by blood, or even his niece, as he called her.

"Lalaith?" Legolas asked, his voice suddenly sober as he eyed her unturned back, and listened to her cool silence. "Did I injure your feelings? I did not mean to. I should not have laughed at your expense."

"You did not hurt me." She protested glancing quickly up at him. "I was just thinking-, about something else."

"What about?" He asked drawing a step nearer, and seeking her gaze with his eyes.

Lalaith bit her lower lip softly, and glanced away. She did not dare to tell him truly of what she was thinking! He would laugh her to scorn. At the least, her feelings would not be shared by him. But still, she could not outright lie to him. She had never done so before, and she would not now.

"About-," a smirk grew across Lalaith's face, "how very old you are."

"_Old_?" Legolas choked, feigning offense, though his grin had returned once again to his face.

"Well, yes!" She spouted defensively as her smirk grew. "You are more than fifteen hundred years older than me, Legolas! That's older than I am, now!"

"Ha! As if age should matter between us, you green little sprout!" In two strides Legolas reached her, and without giving her time to protest, he had caught her by the waist in both his hands, and lifted her easily up into the air as if she weighed nothing at all.

"Do you remember when you were a little Elfling, and I would toss you up in the air?"

"No no no, Legolas! Do not throw me about! I am much too big for that now! You will drop me!" She cried in a high voice, though there was laughter in her protest. "Put me down, or I will tell my Uncle Elrond!"

Legolas however, did not heed her threat, and threw her lightly up into the air, laughing as she shrieked in protest, and catching her easily again as she came down. He tossed her, screaming and protesting a few more times, until his eyes caught the spot of red upon her hand where he had nicked her. As she wailed and thrashed her arms about in protest to Legolas' tossing her, she had forgotten to keep her injured thumb hidden.

"Lalaith," he said, his voice growing instantly serious as he again set her down. "What is this?"

Breathless, Lalaith glanced at her thumb, still bleeding, though more slowly now. Her palm was covered in a sticky sheen of red, but the tiny wound hardly hurt her.

With immeasurable gentleness, Legolas cradled her hand within his own, and ran a finger lightly along her slender wrist as eyes laden with concern lifted to hers. "I did this?"

"Legolas, it is nothing. A mere cut. It barely hurts me." She assured him with a shake of her head.

"Still-," The concern did not leave his eyes at her reassurance. "Come here." He ordered, taking her by her uninjured hand, and leading her toward the misty pool where the water from the fall above them collected. In the deeper center of the pool, the water mixing with that which poured from above, was ever white and churning, though at the edge it was calmer. Here Legolas knelt, drawing Lalaith down beside him. He dipped his cupped hand down into the cold, clear water, and then with great care, smoothed his wetted fingers across Lalaith's bloodied palm, soaking the dried blood, and brushing it away. Then with equal care, he drew his sleeve across her palm and her fingers, drying away the remnants of water and blood until there was no sign of injury, but for the tip of her thumb where the wound was already beginning to close over.

"See?" She said gently. "It is naught but a scratch. It is not even bleeding any more."

Legolas eyes still were heavy with concern as they lifted to hers, almost like a child's they were, seeking forgiveness for some deplorable wrong. She had to smile at his expression, so wise and ageless, yet so child like.

"I am sorry." He muttered.

"Legolas," she smiled softly, shaking her head. "You are the easiest to forgive of all I know. And it was nothing, as I said. It barely hurt. In truth, I would not mind allowing you to give me such a slight, insignificant wound again if it encourages such a remorseful look upon your face."

At this, Legolas chuckled softly and glanced down. "Oh, I see. So I do not look so _old_ when I am writhing in the agony of guilt?"

"Oh, Legolas," she breathed, ever conscious of the touch of his hand encircling hers, and the brush of his fingers along her wrist, "you are not so very old after all."

At this, Legolas lifted his eyes, and a slight smile curved the edges of his gentle mouth.

Lalaith lowered her gaze at the look she saw within his eyes, knowing that the gentle emotions she imagined could not truly be there.

"Lalaith?" Legolas murmured in a voice that caused her heart to leap, and she dared to lift her eyes to his. His eyes gazed long into hers while neither of them spoke, and the mist from the ever roaring falls surrounded them, weaving about them, leaving them within their own world where no others dwelt but them.

At last, Legolas lifted a hand, though his other remained cradling Lalaith's, and with a soft brush of his finger tips, he stroked her cheek. "Nor are you so very young any more."

Lalaith's eyes again fell away. He could not mean what she wanted him to mean. He was a prince. She was a mere foundling, a ward of Elrond, not his daughter. Legolas ought to be courting her cousin Arwen, or some other fair, noble lady. But he had never shown any more than friendship for Arwen, fair as the Evenstar was. Whenever he had come to Imladris, the only maiden he spent any significant time with, was Lalaith. Could it possibly be because he felt more than friendship for her? Lalaith studied his eyes, expressive and wise, and her heart skipped a beat at what she saw there. But it could not be. She was not worthy of such a prince as him-,

"Legolas!" A voice from the path that led down from the glade where the two Elves knelt, split through the quiet and the soft peace that had grown between them, ending the delicate spell that had woven itself around them.

Elladan's voice was filled with angst, and Lalaith and Legolas both leapt to their feet as Lalaith's dark haired cousin appeared through the silvery mists, ever the younger vision of his father, an expression of worry etched upon his usually well humored face.

"Elladan, what's wrong?" Lalaith demanded, a stab of fear gripping her at the look upon his face.

"A message from grandmother." Her oldest cousin blurted. "A host of orcs attacked a patrol on the edges of Lothlórien. Greater than usual, Lalaith. They bring axes and fire, and they are felling the Mellryn on the borders of the forest. These foul orcs are not giving up so easily. A contingent from Imladris is needed to drive them away."

"You will have use of my bow, Elladan, and those of my kinsmen." Legolas said, his voice strong and even, no longer containing any hint of the soft tender tones he had been speaking with before, when the two of them had been alone within the mist of the falls.

"Your help is accepted, and with thanks." Elladan said with a furrowed brow, and a glance of gratitude to Legolas as Lalaith blinked, wondering if all of that before had been naught but a dream.

Perhaps it had been, she sighed to herself. And the thought at once brought her both relief, and misery.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 3**

**December 10, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

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Chapter 3

"I am entirely opposed to this." Legolas muttered through clenched teeth as he traded a weighted look with Elladan as the two Elves and their companions trotted silently through the forest of Lothlórien, toward the western edge of the trees.

The sunlight filtered down through the golden Mallyrn, lighting upon the path they trod, and giving a mistaken aura of peace to the Golden Wood. Yet Legolas' heart felt heavy. For in spite of Lady Galadriel's assurances when they had first come to Caras Galadhon, he was still unsure.

"Calm yourself, my friend." Elladan answered back, turning and glancing back at the group of Elves from Imladris as well as Legolas' kinsmen from Mirkwood. Arwen and Lalaith side by side, strode easily along with the rest of them, clad in men's garb like their male kindred.

"Arwen is a capable swordswoman in her own right. And-,"

"It is not so much for Arwen that I fear, but for Lalaith." Legolas hissed back.

Beside him, and slightly behind him, Elrohir made a low sound in his throat that sounded like a muffled laugh. "_I wonder why that is_?" Elladan's twin muttered under his breath.

"Do not jest!" Legolas muttered, somewhat annoyed that Elladan's younger twin had been listening to their words. _Had Lalaith also heard what he had said_? He wondered, mortified. "Before your father gave Lalaith her knives and her bow, had she any training with such weapons?"

"You said yourself she was a fast learner." Elrohir smirked, his grin askance on his lean elvish face. "She learned in three days what takes many several decades to learn."

"And our father has seen it for himself." Elladan cut in, in a voice that sounded as if he too repressed a chuckle.

"That is why he felt confident enough to allow her to come when she asked permission to accompany us."

"She has never been in combat! She has never slain any creature, good or fell!" Legolas grumbled. "I would save her from the pain of seeing death."

"Then you mean to protect her from life." Elladan answered back, his voice growing serious.

These words silenced Legolas, and his mind spun, thinking quickly of a retort.

"You mean well, but you are not her guardian." Elladan continued, more gently now. "My father is. And as much as he was truly reluctant to let them go, he knows Arwen and Lalaith are as capable as we." A soft smile crossed Elladan's face before it disappeared. "And," he added, "he does not fear so much for Lalaith, with you here."

At these last words, the words of protest Legolas longed to spout fell away into silence, and he turned to glance back at the maiden whose golden hair, bound back in a single plait that hung to her waist, shone as with the light of stars.

As if sensing his gaze upon her, Lalaith glanced up, and her eyes found his. She smiled.

Legolas' heart gave a fierce throb in his chest at the sight of her face, bright and fair, and filled with trust. Until now, she had grown in joy and safety, surrounded by those who loved her within the protected vale of Imladris. With all his heart, he wished she had remained behind.

But Elladan was right. If he truly cared about her, he would not keep her in Imladris, like a wild bird locked away in a gilded cage.

"Welcome, my lords, Elladan and Elrohir." The voice, cool and slightly haughty, forced Legolas to an abrupt stop as he turned forward.

Before him stood two golden haired Galadhrim, dressed in the soft greys of their people, bows in their hands, and quivers of white feathered arrows upon their backs. One of the two, Legolas recognized.

"Welcome, Legolas Thranduilion." Haldir added with a guarded nod to the Mirkwood Elf as their eyes made contact.

"Haldir." Elladan nodded in return. "Alcarion." He added, nodding to the second, whose cheek bore a brush of black orc blood.

"My lords." Alcarion answered with a bow of his head.

"I wondered when you would arrive." Haldir said, his voice smooth and even. His eyes flashed over the new group of Elves, finding the two maidens who stood together, and a twist of a smile came upon his face.

"My lady, Arwen Undomiel." Haldir murmured smoothly, to which Arwen nodded as Haldir directed his attention now at Lalaith who drew a step forward, and offered him a soft, timid smile.

"Lord Haldir." Lalaith murmured softly.

"My lady?" Haldir said, his words more a question than a greeting. "Do my eyes deceive me? My lady, Lalaith Elerrina?"

Legolas narrowed his eyes at the change upon Haldir's face, disliking the expression of wonder and surprise as well as blatant admiration that shone within Haldir's suddenly bright eyes as the Lórien Elf gazed upon the young maiden.

"Indeed, it is I." Lalaith muttered, glancing away from Haldir's suddenly piercing gaze. "Does my presence surprise you, my lord?" She asked, her glance turned downward to the leaf strewn ground.

"Your presence, no." Haldir said with a soft shake of his head and an apologetic grimace. "But you have grown since last you came to the Golden Wood."

"It was but twenty years ago when I came last to Lothlórien." Lalaith murmured. "And I could not have changed, for I have been of age for many centuries-,"

"Oh, but indeed you have grown, my lady." Haldir murmured, his voice hardly above a whisper as he smiled softly and inclined his head toward the maiden. "Much more beautiful than when last you were here."

Lalaith's mouth opened in a silent gesture of surprise at Haldir's open expression of appreciation for her beauty, and her fair cheeks flushed to the color of a soft rose.

"Lord Haldir." Legolas blurted, far more forcefully than was his intent, and the March Warden looked from the maiden to the Mirkwood Prince with mild surprise etching his features. "We have come to drive back the orcs that have come to harass your people. Shall we do so?"

Haldir's chest swelled with a deep breath at Legolas' words, and the muscles of his jaw tightened as he eyed the other Elf. For a moment, it seemed as if a sharp retort were soon to come from his lips, but with effort, the March Warden bit back whatever words he wished to speak, and a narrow, guarded smile turned his mouth upward.

"Indeed, my lord prince." Haldir said with a narrow bow of his head, though his words were sharpened as his gaze shot darts into the Mirkwood Elf. "Your assistance and that of your kinsfolk, will surely prove to be the force that drives these creatures back."

"That is my hope." Legolas answered, his own words equally as sharp, and the Elves eyed each other, a silent though unmistakable challenge passing between the two men.

"It is the hope of all of us." Elladan muttered, his voice betraying his slight exasperation, and bringing the heated gazes of Legolas and Haldir to bear upon him. "Shall we?" Elrond's eldest added, gesturing down the path upon which they stood leading nearer to the eaves of the forest where the orcs had entrenched themselves.

Haldir cast one last glance at Legolas, then drew in a deep breath, as if forcing reason back into his mind, and a slight curve of a smile came upon his lips. "Follow me." He said, then turned sharply, and started down the path from whence he and Alcarion had come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 4**

**December 19, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 4

Lalaith felt a twinge of fear as she crept along a narrow path woven through the high branches of the Mallyrn, the golden bows about her, washed silver in the light of the moon and stars that filtered down from the night sky above. It was a path that was little more than thick Mallorn branches twisted along the natural planes of their growth following one another in succession as each branch's tapering boughs wove into the leafing tendrils of another, sturdy enough to support the weight of the light footed Elves that traveled this aerial pathway. One hand grasped at smaller branches above her for support while she clutched her bow tightly in her sweaty fist. She had possessed a curious apprehension of height for as long as she could remember, though she did not know why, for she was as lithe footed as any other Elf. But for the moment, she hardly realized her small concern, for a new darker fear had overshadowed all other emotion. She could hear the rhythmic hacking of axes, and flinched every time the sound of cracking wood assaulted her ears, for she loved the trees of this wood, home to her as much as Imladris was. The task of cutting the trees down moved more slowly than what the orcs had tried at the first; setting fire to the brush, and burning the trees down. But the power of Lady Galadriel was too strong for that, and the fires quenched and died before growing far, so the orcs had resorted to their axes, much slower work. Still, the death of even one tree was difficult for Lalaith to take. The creatures did not even mean to use the wood of the tree they felled, she knew, for Alcarion and Haldir had already shown her a clearing of abandoned trees felled at the forest eaves and littered about liked animal carcasses slain for the mere pleasure of killing something. There could be no reason for this senselessness, but that they did this simply to mock the Elves who dwelt in these woods, to give them a show of power.

Though small bands of orcs harassed the Elves of Lothlórien from time to time, this time, their numbers were greater. They had started on the western edge of the forest, cutting down the saplings and the younger trees that grew there, gradually cutting a wedge eastward, working even beneath the glaring sun, as if they intended to cut clean through the Golden Wood. Perhaps the thought of these orcs, was that they dared not make war upon the Elves beneath their own trees, and meant to cut their way to the heart of Caras Galadhon itself, their destination, to make war upon the Elves, there. Whatever their goal, these creatures were fierce and desperate. They were tenacious, but their progress was slow, and though their numbers were great, the Elves of Lórien had held them at bay, cutting them down systematically, and slowing their progress. And now with the arrival of the Elves from Imladris and Mirkwood, they were all but driven from the Golden Wood. For that reason, Lalaith had at last been permitted to leave the high talan and help, for the greatest part of the danger was gone.

Lalaith paused, her hand clutching a nearby branch for support as she gazed down at two dark shapes that had taken form through the tree branches and the thick ground vegetation where they scurried about upon the ground, half hidden by shadow, hunched dark shapes that she knew instinctively were orcs. They were alone, it appeared, on the very tip of the wedge the tree felling orcs had created, and would be easy targets, or so it was hoped.

"Those creatures?" She whispered to her companion who stood nearby. "They are orcs?" She could hear the trembling tones of her voice, and felt shamed that she was so frightened. A low aching twinge throbbed in the back of her right shoulder, and she shifted her stance slightly in an effort to alleviate the pain. Yet it did not fade.

"They are, my lady. You have never seen one before?" Alcarion asked, glancing back at her with an expression of sympathy.

"Not before today," she admitted. "Though we have been here for two days, I have seen no orc, yet. My cousins have been protective, and my friend Legolas almost stiflingly so." Setting her jaw, she turned her mind away from the pain, determined to ignore the throbbing ache in her shoulder.

"It is only because you are young, and untried. And they love you, my lady." Alcarion answered with a thin smile of understanding. "My daughter has never seen one of these vile creatures either, and she is much older than you. I hope she is never called upon to deal with this orcish business, though-, one never knows what the future may bring."

"What is her name?" Lalaith asked.

"Lothirien." Alcarion answered. He paused a long moment, and glanced ahead of him at Haldir who, with Legolas, had disappeared further along the aerial path. "You have met her before, but I do not know if you would remember her, for she is rather shy."

"I believe I do remember her." Lalaith said softly, furrowing her brow. She did indeed remember Lothirien, a quiet, polite maiden, golden hair tumbling down her back, large shy eyes set within a face of fair beauty. She was a servant to Galadriel, and had been one of the maidens who had waited on Lalaith and Arwen when they had last come to visit in the Golden Wood. "She is near to Lord Haldir in age, yes?"

"Indeed, my lady." Alcarion nodded, eyeing Lalaith with an expression that was at once rueful and sympathetic. "Lord Haldir exceeds her in age only by fifteen years. They have been close friends all their lives." Alcarion's eyes became somewhat troubled as he began to speak more slowly, "In truth, my lady, when we first met you upon the path, I was surprised by Lord Haldir's remarks to you, for my daughter has had hopes that perhaps-,"

His words ended as swiftly as they had begun, for the harsh crack of axes below them was suddenly cut off by the hiss of arrows followed by the thunk of the narrow shafts penetrating the orcs' bodies. Soft groans rose up, and the dark, half hidden shadows tumbled to the earth.

"Follow me." Alcarion ordered, and he ran along the branching trellis as Lalaith struggled along behind him, grasping at branches as she went, for support.

"This is the eleventh for me," came a familiar voice soft and quiet from beneath them, and Alcarion bid Lalaith to stop as two Elves upon the ground came into view; Haldir and Legolas. Somehow, they had descended from the tree without Alcarion or Lalaith noting their departure.

"I am on thirteen," Haldir returned smugly as he nudged one of the two dead orcs with his foot. "Do not forget the wager we made."

"I was not entirely agreeable to that wager, Haldir." Legolas answered, his tone carrying a hint of moodiness.

"You would say that now, my lord prince." Haldir muttered smugly. "Now that you are losing. For when the orcs have been driven back, the winner claims the first dance with Lady Lalaith at the celebration feast."

Lalaith's jaw dropped, and she frowned angrily. She was barely aware of the concerned glance Alcarion gave her out of the corner of her eye. What were those foolish men making a wager over _her_, for? Did they think her incapable of choosing her _own_ escort?

But her momentary anger was forgotten, as three more dark figures, came creeping from beneath the shadows like insects from beneath the rot of a stone to confront the two Elves.

The first barked something harsh in a language that Lalaith could not understand, though she guessed that the sound was not of the tones of the Black Speech. Doubtless it wished the two Elves to understand the mocking curse it spoke, and thus used the language of the Common Tongue, a language Lalaith had not yet learned. She had guessed right, for Legolas returned a seething reply to the orc's harsh curse, and he and Haldir snatched their blades from the quivers at their backs; Legolas his two white knives, and Haldir a long bright bladed sword that glittered beneath the starlight.

The three orcs chuckled, and again one of them spat what seemed to be a challenge, yet made no move, waiting for the Elves to come at them.

Beside her, she became aware of Alcarion slowly drawing forth an arrow from his quiver, and she followed suit, hearing the wild thunder of her heart within her chest. The orcs locked in a face-off with the two Elves upon the ground were clearly unaware of the other two who watched from the treetops.

Lalaith's attention was jerked suddenly away from the two as a movement beyond Legolas and Haldir caught her eye. Alcarion had yet to notice it, for he stood paces beyond Lalaith, his sight blocked from a jutting branch. But from the darkness of the shadows behind Legolas and Haldir, the dark shape of an orc came slithering slowly forward. Within its fist, was clenched a curving blade, and it raised the weapon high above its head, bearing its sights upon Legolas' unprotected back.

Lalaith did not think. Her movements were more of instinct rather than conscious thought. She set the nock of her arrow to her bowstring, drew the string to her cheek, and let fly, hearing the familiar zip and thunk of the arrow flying from the string and into its target, the dark mottled skin of the orc's throat.

With a high pitched squeal that ended in a frothing gurgle, the orc tumbled to the ground at Legolas' feet, dead.

With sharp grunts of surprise and hatred, the three remaining orcs turned sharply, looking up toward whence the arrow had come. One orc snatched a bow that hung at its side, and drew back the string upon a black feathered arrow as Legolas and Haldir lunged forward, engaging the first two orcs in furious but brief combat, slaying them both within seconds of each other. Legolas' flashing white knife sunk beneath the last orc's ribs only a fraction of an instant after the arrow was released from the string, and flew toward Lalaith's hiding place within the branches, seeming to grow larger as it came at her, destined for a spot right between her eyes.

"My lady!" Alcarion shouted from somewhere nearby, as if through an echoing fog. She felt a rough force lunge into her shoulder, and felt herself falling, hitting her shoulder hard upon the level Mallorn branch as a harsh thunk struck something above her, and she heard a grunt of surprise and pain that though it was a soft sound, seemed to echo long through the trees about her.

Glancing up, she felt a harsh breath pull into her lungs, and a part of her spirit turned inward upon itself, refusing to accept what her eyes were reporting. Alcarion stood above her, wavering on his feet as he gazed down in confusion and mild surprise at a black feathered arrow that poked through the front of his tunic. A bright spot of red was spreading over the cloth of his tunic around the shaft, and as he drew in a long held breath, it came out sharp and ragged, followed by a harsh cough that brought up drops of blood.

"My-, my lord? Alcarion?" Lalaith asked, her voice small in the forest that seemed suddenly silent as death.

But he did not answer. He simply glanced down into her eyes, with a helpless, almost remorseful expression as his strength left him, and his knees buckled.

"_No_!" Lalaith heard herself scream, and felt herself lunging upward to snatch at him as he fell, tumbling heavily from the branch, falling through the silent air, to land with a heavy thump upon the ground below, scattering leaves about him as he struck the earth.

"Alcarion!" Haldir's voice shouted, and she saw the two Elves upon the ground rushing to his side. Her mind still could not understand what had happened as Lalaith scrambled to her feet, forcing her trembling limbs to work for her as she rushed along the tree borne corridor, and found a winding pathway, narrow, formed of a winding branch that led her down around a thick trunked Mallorn to the ground below.

Her feet scattered fallen leaves before her as she stumbled onto the earthen floor of the forest, and scrambled to where Alcarion lay, Haldir and Legolas kneeling over him. Haldir had caught hold of Alcarion's hand, a look of numb horror on the March Warden's face. Lalaith stumbled to the ground beside Legolas. Her fingers strayed to Legolas' knee, seeking out his own hand and found it as he caught her trembling hand, enfolding it within the warmth of his. There were tears, she saw, within the March Warden's eyes.

"Haldir," Alcarion choked, his voice hardly audible.

"Alcarion, my friend, do not fear." Haldir said in a voice thick with grief that trembled and shook dreadfully. "We will get you home to Brethiliel. All will be well. She and Lothirien and the healers will nurse you back."

Alcarion's eyes were shining in the dark, a thick stream of blood running from one side of his mouth as he shook his head despairingly. "Haldir-," he coughed. "Haldir, listen." Alcarion spluttered, his voice growing weak. His eyes were wide and bright. "My daughter-"

"What of Lothirien?" Haldir choked, his voice losing its sharpness suddenly, as if the knowledge of Alcarion's inevitable fate had taken hold within his mind, weakening him.

"Lothirien," Alcarion echoed, his voice fading as his fist tightened within Haldir's. "Watch over her." Haldir nodded, a wild, grieving nod as tears fell upon his cheeks. "She-, she-, lo-,"

The words he would have spoken, never came, for in the midst of a breath, Alcarion was gone. The light flew from his eyes, and his fist fell from Haldir's.

"A-, Alcarion?" Haldir demanded, as if he had yet to realize that his friend was dead. "No." A ragged breath choked within Haldir's lungs, and he bent his head, soft sobs wracking his tall, strong frame as he wept for his dead friend.

A chill overcame Lalaith and she turned away from the terrible grief that swept over Haldir. Legolas leaned toward her, wanting to comfort her, but she pulled from him, and stood, staggering away, and fixing her eyes upon the orc that had slain Alcarion. It lay sprawled upon its back, its bow still within its fist. And-, she noted, it was coughing black blood, still alive though barely, watching the Elves with a sneering smile pulled back from sharp, ragged teeth.

The back of Lalaith's shoulder twitched painfully, but she ignored it, and dove at the orc. She stumbled clumsily to the ground beside it, jarring her knees painfully. But she paid her own pain no heed, snatching the orc by the iron harness fastened about its chest, and nearly lifted it from the ground as she shook it rapidly. "Why?" She raged, anger and pain embodied in that one word as her gaze burned into the yellow eyed face of the orc that watched her with an almost humored expression.

"Do you not know?" The orc hissed low in a voice that gurgled through its blood.

Lalaith recoiled. She thrust the orc away, and stumbled backward upon the ground. She understood its speech, though she had never learned any tongue but that of her people. How could an orc understand the tongue of the Elves?

"Our master sent us for the little godling." The orc continued, sneering at her horror, "The one he knows you Elves have been hiding." The orc finished with a sneer.

"You _lie_!" Lalaith cried, coming back to herself, and scrambling to her knees. She could hear the disconcerted tremble in her voice beneath the revulsion she felt, and demanded, "What is the true reason for your coming to our Golden Wood?"

"Liar." The orc hissed, rolling to one side, and snatching for her ankle, which she pulled rapidly away from its clawing hand. "You have the dirty little creature. Where is it?"

"I do not lie." Lalaith's mouth trembled, but she fought her emotions, refusing to let the sneering, yellow eyed creature see her weakness.

"Lies!" The orc insisted. "Where are you hiding the cursed little Vala?"

Lalaith drew in a fierce breath, hardly having heard the words the orc spoke. "Tell me why you came here, blasphemous orc!" She cried. "Tell me why you fell our trees, and murder our people!"

"We came for the Vala!" The orc spat back, spraying the side of Lalaith's face with thick, black blood. "To kill it, as our master wishes! And to kill all your filthy race! _Marr golug, lul gijak-ishi_-,"

The black words the orc reverted to, were cut off in a dying gurgle as Lalaith, in a sudden frenzied rage, drew forth one of her knives, and drove it home into the creature's chest, feeling the crack of bone as the blade drove clear through the beast, pinning it to the leaf strewn ground.

"Filthy, lying creature! May you rot eternally in the Void!" Lalaith spat, drawing the knife out, and plunging it back, once, twice, and again a third time into the dead orc's body before she felt someone at her back. Legolas knelt behind her, his chest warm against her back as his hands slid along her arms and closed over her hands, to stop her rage.

Gently, but firmly, Legolas' hands folded her arms in upon herself, his own arms curling warmly over hers, and in this embrace, he held her, his breath warm in her hair. "Lalaith," he whispered softly, "I'm here."

At the warm touch of his arms encircling her, firm yet also gentle, Lalaith's raw fury melted away, leaving her no recourse but to weep. For Alcarion she mourned, but not for him alone. A portion of her innocence was dead, because of what she had seen and done this night, and she wept also, for herself. She had not lost her hold upon herself like this since her aunt Celebrian, the only mother she could remember, had sailed for Valinor. And Lalaith had only been a young girl, then.

"Hush, my friend, hush." He whispered soothingly, as his hands found her thin shoulders and he turned her toward him, drawing her close like a child and she huddled against his chest, shuddering as she closed her eyes in an effort to shut out reality. She was sheltered and warm in his arms, her face buried against his neck, hidden against his cool, golden hair.

"Legolas, Legolas," she choked. "Why did I come? Foolish child I am, to have ever though it was a game."

"You saved my life, Lalaith." Legolas returned, his own voice ragged at the despair in her tone. He too knew that she had reached a coming of age this night, and that she longed in vain to return to the way she had been before. "Your coming was the will of the Valar. For had you remained in Imladris, that orc would have struck me down from behind."

Lalaith lifted her head from Legolas' shoulder, and studied his face, scant inches from her own, she could feel his warm breath upon her face as she studied his bright eyes as they watched her, filled with worry and grief. Beyond his shoulder, she could still hear Haldir, his voice muffled as he mourned his fallen comrade. "So you are saved by the will of the Valar-, but Alcarion is taken from his wife and daughter?" She asked in a pleading voice. "Where is the justice in that?"

"I do not know." Legolas answered heavily.

"_No_!" Lalaith demanded, pleading. "What is the answer? Why must the Valar allow this at all? Do they care not at all about us? Left here, bereft of the light of Valinor, upon Arda? Does Mandos care for nothing, but to fill his halls with the mourning dead, greedy tyrant that he must surely be?"

"I do not know the answers, Lalaith." Legolas answered, his voice growing sharp for an instant, before he caught himself, and bowed his head a moment, before lifting it, and gazing long into her eyes with a face that pled with her for understanding. "I cannot give you answers, but I do know that I care for you, and that I wish to give you what comfort I can." She felt his hands stray to her face, cupping her face with his fingers. "Do you trust me, Lalaith?" He asked in a whisper.

Catching her breath, she glanced up into his eyes, wondering as he drew close, and brushed his lips across her brow.

"I trust you, Legolas." She returned.

"Do you believe me then, when I tell you that someday the answers will come?"

Lalaith paused a long moment, her eyes hidden beneath closed lids as she contemplated his question. As she remained like this, she felt his breath, warm against her mouth, and then felt the soft press of his brow resting against her own.

"Yes." She answered softly, then lowered her head and buried her face into his cool golden hair where it rested smooth against his neck. And his arms, warm and secure, encircled her, and he held her close, neither moving as Haldir remained paces away, keeping vigil at the side of his dead friend until the first hint of dawn lightened the sky, and the sons of Elrond, with their sister Arwen, found them at last.


	5. Chapter 5

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 5**

**December 21, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 5

Lalaith watched with forlorn eyes from the edge of the gathering as the bearers of Alcarion's body set the bier upon which the Lórien warrior's body lay, within a narrow tomb dug between the roots of a towering Mallorn. The funeral procession had not been long, but Lalaith was weary. Legolas stood near her, his arm slipped about her waist to support her, in much the same way that Haldir held up Brethiliel, Alcarion's widow, who fairly sagged within the younger Elf's arms. Both she and her daughter, as well as all the women of the company, wore somber gowns to reflect the prevalent ambiance of sorrow that seemed to throb through the realm of the Golden Wood like a death knell, unheard. But unlike her mother, the fair maiden Lothirien remained unveiled, her golden hair unbound, and falling to her waist like a river of gold, her wide shimmering eyes dropping tear after tear as she stood sedate and calm beside Haldir as he supported Lothirien's mother who had hidden her face behind a shroud, transparent as a wedding veil, though a dark violet gossamer, to conceal her insatiable grief for her lost lover. Still, Lalaith could see her shining, tear filled eyes, beautiful and terrible in their grief, and hear the woman's soft weeping.

Lalaith shuddered and bowed her head, wishing she could not hear it, for it made her heart only heavier.

At her movement, Legolas' arm tightened about her, and he drew her closer to himself, tipping his head to press a soft kiss against her shivering brow.

"I am here, Lalaith." He murmured against her hair for her alone to hear. "Right here." And she shrank closer to him, letting his embrace envelope her, grateful for his presence.

Lalaith did not see the Lady Galadriel who stood but a pace from her beside Lord Celeborn, glance her way. And though she did not smile, for grief was heavy upon them all, a light danced within the Lady's eyes as she looked upon the youthful pair. But when a soft clatter of stones met her ears, Lalaith again forced herself to look up.

Stones were being laid over the entrance to the tomb by the somber faced Elves who had born his body here, and were slowly covering the dark opening through which Lalaith could see Alcarion's still form, his long bow clutched within still hands, and his sword and quiver lain beside him.

"No-," The soft, tremulous word came breaking from Brethiliel's lips, as she tore herself away from Haldir, and dropped to her knees before her husband's tomb, stretching her hands out helplessly as if to bid him return. But at last the entrance was covered, and as the last stone was place, Galadriel, the Lady of the Golden Wood began to sing.

After a moment, Arwen's tremulous voice joined hers. And slowly, other voices began to join her as the women of the company began to add their voices to the song. Brethiliel remained upon her knees before the tomb of her beloved, and continued to weep, but Lothirien's voice at last rose up, tremulous, yet brave and strong to join in. And this at last gave Lalaith the courage to draw away from Legolas' sheltering embrace and step to Arwen's side. Closing her eyes, she drew in a breath and lifted her face up, allowing her own voice to weave into those of the others.

Rising and falling as a soft breeze, and ever weaving through the air about them, rose their mournful song of farewell to the fallen hero. Long the haunting, echoing notes endured, as the light of the forest slowly faded, and grew to a muted silver. Their voices faded at last, with the day that had gone, and Lalaith drew in a breath, listening to the silence that grew about her as their lament faded away into silence, and she knew that the westering sun had fallen beyond the mountains.

"Lalaith, come." She felt his firm hands upon her shoulders, and felt Legolas' soft breath brush the tip of her ear. "You are weary. You must rest."

Lalaith did not resist as she allowed Legolas to guide her away. But as he led her from the glade with the others, she turned her head. Brethiliel had lain down upon the earth beside the grave of her love, one hand resting upon the stones that had sealed his tomb as if she wished to pull them aside, but lacked the strength to do so. How pale she was!

"Mother-," Lothirien's voice, plaintive, and like a child's murmured softly, but Brethiliel did little to acknowledge her daughter's pleading, but glance up at her child with eyes that grieved not only for her dead husband, but in sympathy for her child as well.

"Go with Haldir, my dear one." Brethiliel murmured, her voice soft. "Let him care for you. Do not wait for me."

Lothirien did not heed her mother's words, and stepped forward, placing a hand upon her shoulder. "But mother-,"

"Take her away from here, Haldir." Brethiliel ordered, turning her face away from her daughter.

"Yes, my lady." Haldir's tone was sober as he stepped forward, and gently drew Lothirien's hand into his own. "Come, my friend." He murmured gently to the maiden.

"We cannot leave my mother here, alone." Lothirien protested weakly between her tears as Haldir drew her away from the tomb where her mother knelt, willingly bearing much of her weight as her own feet stumbled, too weak to bear her up any more.

"I will come back for her later, Lothirien." Haldir assured her. "First, though, I will see to your needs. I am always here for you, my friend."

"Oh, Haldir." The maiden sighed, and as her tears began to come more freely. "Thank the Valar for you." Haldir paused, and turned to her, drawing her close as she began to weep into his shoulder.

"Lalaith, come." Legolas urged gently, and Lalaith came back to herself, turning away quickly, sensing that she ought not to intrude on such an intimate scene between the two life long friends.

"Yes," she stammered, swallowing at a hardened lump that had formed within her throat as she leaned heavily against his arm, and allowed him to follow the pathway that wove away through the trees, back toward the silver lights of the city that twinkled mutely between the silver Mallyrn.

…

Lothirien sighed between the ragged breaths that were all that remained of her weeping as she fell heavily upon her bed within her moonlit room of her parent's flet, and bent her head into her hands.

With a deep release of breath, Haldir lowered himself to the bed beside her, sheltering her frail shoulders within the curve of his arm, and surveyed his friend's tear streaked face as she lifted her eyes and gazed into his, the exhaustion stark within her once shining eyes. He felt powerless to help her, and he chafed at the feeling, hating how helpless it made him feel. There was no other woman in all of the Golden Wood, in all of Arda, whose eyes he wished more to see filled with happiness. But would he ever see it again in her eyes?

"Haldir-," She breathed, her voice filled with a soft breathlessness as she lay her head upon his shoulder. Her ragged breaths were quieting, though still, he knew the pain wrenched her apart inside, as it did him.

"Haldir, what would I do if you were not here, for me?" She continued, her tears flowing ever down her smooth cheeks, soaking through to his shoulder, though he did not care. "I am forever in your debt."

"No, it is I who owe the debt to you." He murmured, lifting a hand to brush his finger across her cheek.

"Why?" She asked in a tone of pleading, lifting her face. "What have I done for you?"

"What have you _not_ done?" He returned easily. "You are my friend. In spite of all my faults, still you stand beside me. Always you have done this."

"What faults? I have yet to see one." Lothirien sniffed, a sliver of a smile briefly crossing her face.

"You have but to speak to any other Elf of these woods my naïve friend, and they will enlighten you of them. I am informed, more often than I wish to be, that I am far more assured of myself than I ought to be. That I am over conceited, and arrogant-,"

"In my eyes, such things only make you all the more adorable. You are not truly so arrogant as you act." Lothirien sighed, and nuzzled ever closer into his chest. "For you are not behaving that way, now. With me."

Another ragged breath wracked her frame, reminding Haldir of how exhausted she was.

"You need your sleep, my friend." Haldir whispered, and she sighed and nodded, brushing again at the tears that coursed her cheeks. Gently, Haldir lowered her unresisting, nearly limp form to the softness of her bed, wondering at why his heart suddenly caught on a beat as her head settled upon her pillow, her hair cast about her head like a shimmering cloud of gold, and she looked up at him through eyes that were, for the moment free of tears, wide and trusting as they delved into his own, as if seeking his heart's secrets.

Gulping in a throat that was suddenly dry, Haldir drew his arms away from about her soft warmth, and straightened again, drawing in a calming breath, and shifting his gaze to her slippered feet.

"Your sleep will be more restful, if your feet were bare." He murmured, his fingers slipping over her slender ankle. Deftly he drew her first velvet slipper of twilight blue from her slender foot. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped her lips, and as he drew her second slipper away in his hand, he glanced upward toward her face, finding himself half hoping to see her watching him, a smile upon her soft lips. But it was not to be. She already slept, tears still spilling one by one from her open unfocused eyes as they gazed upward toward the fluted arch above her head.

"Sleep well, Lothirien. The grief that will find you again upon your waking, will come too soon." Haldir murmured, finding the silken coverlet at the end of her bed, and drawing it over the slender length of her slumbering form. "I will see to your mother, now."

With a careful hand, he drew the coverlet about her shoulders, then brushed his fingers softly over her pale brow. He moved to step away, but paused and glanced back, studying her slumbering face beneath the light that spilled through the screens above her head. Her face was one he had grown accustomed to over the millennia of their lives, unchanged since they had reached maturity. She was dearer to him than anyone he had ever known, her friendship and her faith in him ever unfaltering. How was it then, that before this moment, he had never truly noticed how beautiful she was?

Haldir studied her slumbering features a moment longer before he turned away, stepping softly out of her flet, and made his way down the spiraling stairs and onto the ground below, stowing the thought within the recesses of his mind as he made his way toward the glade where the Lady Brethiliel had remained behind, mourning at her husband's tomb.

The night was cool and dark, though his path was lit from overhead by the gentle silver lamps that marked his path, and eerie music still seemed to linger about in the trees, following him as he went, somber, sorrowing music as a distant, intangible echo. There would be no celebration feast now, since one of their number had fallen. His thoughts turned away from the path he trod, and carried him away into the higher reaches of the Mallyrn where the lady Lalaith and her kin were staying.

Lalaith had indeed grown very fair since she had last been here, Haldir admitted to himself, as he thought back upon the first moment he had seen her upon the path. He recognized her from her past visits, but she seemed so different, somehow. But for the grief of Lothirien and her mother, and his own which sat like a stone upon his heart, perhaps he could have spoken again to her. He had slain more orcs that that whelp of a princeling, Legolas. She would have been his at the feast, at least at the first-, Haldir caught himself. Angrily, he cursed himself inwardly for his selfishness. Why was he allowing his thoughts to dwell upon the fair, exotic maiden Lalaith, when Lothirien and her mother needed him so much more?

The path he followed had darkened, for he had left the lights of the city behind him. It dipped downward sharply, passing through the shadows of aged Mallryn, until he saw the first glimmers of moonlight ahead, and knew that he was drawing near to Alcarion's tomb where Brethiliel yet kept her vigil. Sure enough, as he stepped past the last tree, he saw her there, a beam of moonlight resting upon her where she lay on the slope of ground beneath where her love had been lain.

"My lady, come." Haldir said softly, drawing near to her still form. "The night is far gone, and Lothirien will worry."

Brethiliel made no move to acknowledge his presence, nor to dismiss him. But she lay still and silent.

"My lady?" He said again, his voice but a breath upon the air. Drawing near to her form, he knelt, and reached out, placing his hand over hers where it rested upon the stones that sealed the tomb of her love. It was stiff and unresponsive; ice to the touch.

Rapidly, he pulled his hand back, a sharp breath of horror breaking from his lips.

"She is gone." A voice behind Haldir, sad and resigned, brought his head sharply around, and he saw the Lady standing there, as if she had followed but a few steps behind him, and had been watching him, silent and morose.

Haldir stared hard at Galadriel, seeing in her eyes sadness, but not horror at something unlooked for, and unexpected.

"She has joined her love." Galadriel whispered softly, gliding a step nearer. "Her time upon Arda is finished."

"Did you know this would happen?" Haldir blurted, his voice sounding harsh and demanding in the quiet of the still night.

"I suspected it." Galadriel admitted, drawing in a small sigh.

"Why did you say nothing then, my lady?" Haldir blurted. "Why did you allow us to leave her behind? Were I to have known this would happen, I would not have left her alone!"

"She did not wish to come with us-,"

"We could have _forced_ her to come back with us! To return to the light of the city, with her daughter, with others who care for her! Lothirien would have nursed Brethiliel back, she would have returned to her mother a will to live-,"

"Brethiliel was determined to join him. Nothing would have prevented her." Galadriel murmured in a smooth, even voice, wise and eternally patient. She drew near to Haldir, and placed a hand upon his stiffened shoulder. "Whether here, or at her daughter's side, her heart would have beaten its last, this night."

"But she was alone!" Haldir choked stiffly.

"No." Galadriel whispered, and through her sadness, a soft smile shone. "She was not alone. He came for her. They have gone now, to the Halls of Mandos, together."

"But what will I tell Lothirien?" Haldir muttered, pleading.

Galadriel breathed softly, her eyes taking on a look of deep sympathy. "What you must tell her, tell her gently. She will take it best, coming from you. And she will need you now, more than she ever has." Galadriel lifted her hand, indicated back the way Haldir had come. "Go to her, now."

"Yes, my lady." Haldir said, then upon numb legs, he rose from beside the body of Lothirien's mother, and began back the way he had come.

…

Soft, morning sunlight pierced through the darkness of her dreamless sleep, bringing the waking world into focus. And Lothirien blinked her eyes, once, then sensing a near presence, lifted her head quickly, to see Haldir seated beside her bed, his elbows resting upon his knees in an attitude of terrible weariness. His head was down, and he had yet to notice she was awake.

Lothirien drew in a soft, silent breath, watching him, realizing now, that he had spent the night beside her. Her heart melted within her, and in spite of her lingering grief, a glimmer of hope rose within her heart.

"Haldir." She whispered softly, and at his name, his head lifted, his eyes dark with grief and fear found hers. His face had borne grief the night before, but had not reflected such pain as when her father had been buried. "What is it?" She asked softly, rising up upon one elbow.

"Oh, my friend, Lothirien." Haldir choked, and fell to his knees beside her, catching her hand within his, and pressing a fervent kiss against the back of her hand. Lothirien sighed within herself, for it was a kiss of caring, and friendship. Not of that which she wished Haldir would feel for her. Still, he was clearly devoted to her as a brother would be. She was grateful enough to the Valar for that.

"Lothirien, forgive me." He choked, his voice heavy. "But-, there is something I must tell you."


	6. Chapter 6

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 6**

**December 24, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 6

The new day had come with the usual noises of rising morning beneath the Mallyrn of Lórien, the soft silver light of the night having given way to the cool golden shadows of day.

Lalaith walked slowly upon a winding path, garbed in a grey gown woven warm and sturdy for travel, and a riding cloak, knowing that soon, she would be expected back, for their return trip to Imladris was to begin soon. But for the moment, she wanted to be alone.

Within one hand, she held her quiver by one belt strap, her hand hanging low at her side, the loose belts dragging over the soft earth of the path beneath her feet, and trailing behind her. She did not care. Occasionally, she would lift her quiver, laden with its weapons, and study the flying bird embossed upon the leather, the plaited vines trailing upward. How excited she had been, when Elrond had first given it to her. How proud to know that he thought her a woman now, capable and independent. And she had felt so. She had believed herself wise, and mature, proud of her new gifts, and excited and eager to think that one day she could use them. But now she had. She had seen death, not only of orcs, but of her own people. One moment Alcarion had been alive, guiding her through the trees, telling her of his daughter as they went, and the next, he was dead, slain by the arrow that had been meant for her. From what she had seen within the cold, murderous eyes of the orc whose death she had hastened, and then nearly mutilated, she understood even more, that such battles with the spawn of Morgoth's evil were ever a necessity. But no longer did the need for such sacrifice ignite the fire in her that it had once done. Bright idealism had turned to grim need, and Lalaith mourned the innocent child she had once been, and was no longer.

"Lady Lalaith?"

Against her will, Lalaith looked up, dreading the face she would see, for she had recognized his voice. Haldir stood near, just off the path, as if he had just dropped from one of the trees overhead, and she wondered if he had been trailing her for some time, and had come silently around, to meet her.

"Lord Haldir." She sighed, drawing to a reluctant stop, wishing she could turn and flee from his presence. He had been Alcarion's friend. And Haldir knew that it was because of her that he had died. "Have you told your friend Lothirien that it was my fault?"

"Your fault? What could be your fault, my lady?"

Lalaith sighed, dropping her eyes away from his. His gaze was intense. Almost painful.

"Alcarion is dead because of me, and thus, his wife as well," she blurted bitterly. "It is my fault, and you know it, else you are a fool."

Haldir did not seem to take offense at her heavy words, and only drew ever closer. "My friend Lothirien knows of all that happened. She does not blame you. Nor do I."

"The lady, Lothirien, is truly a great lady, then. You must feel very blessed of the Valar to possess her friendship," Lalaith returned, conscious of Haldir drawing ever closer to her.

"I do," Haldir added with a thoughtful sigh, and he paused a moment. Lalaith sensed his thoughts had carried elsewhere for a moment, before she once again felt the pressure of his gaze returned to her.

Haldir's words grew soft and warm, and he drew closer as he spoke, close enough that he could reach out and touch her, which, to her chagrin, he did, resting one hand softly upon her narrow shoulder. "I grieve for the loss of Alcarion as well as his wife, and I am pained for the grief of my friend, Lothirien. But I am glad, my lady, that you yet live, to shine your gentle grace upon this strife torn Middle Earth."

Lalaith bit her bottom lip softly, keeping her eyes ever upon the ground.

"I think that perhaps your words are misplaced," she muttered, ever conscious of his hand upon her shoulder, warm through the thick cloth of her gown and cloak. "I bear no great importance. I am not Elrond's kin. Not truly."

"That, I knew already, my lady," Haldir countered, a hint of pain in his voice. "Truly you do not think you are of less worth, because you are not of the blood of Eärendil and Elwing? Or of our Lady, Galadriel, and her Lord, Celeborn? Surely your dear prince, Thranduilion holds you in no less esteem because Elrond is not truly your father. I am not of high, noble blood. Think you that I am mere rabble?"

Lalaith lifted her head at last, wondering if somehow, she had wounded him. "I am only saying that I am not so great as you seem to think, my lord." She whispered, her lips drooping into a frown. "I meant no insult to you."

Turning away from him, she started away, but had made only a few steps before he darted in front of her again, halting her progress. "I take no insult from you, my lady." Haldir spouted, his eyes penitent. "For even the sharpest of glances from your eyes could never be thought of as an insult." He gulped hard, and Lalaith drew in a quick breath, seeing the deep pleading in his eyes. "Your worth, my lady, is greater than the very stars."

Lalaith drew in a quick breath, and glanced away again, her jaw set hard. What was he trying to gain from such words? How could she, a mere daughter of the Firstborn, be of greater worth than the stars Varda herself had kindled?

"Those are high words, and surely spoken in passion and haste," she finally managed to whisper, almost to herself. "For only one of the Valar could truly be of worth greater than the creations of the Lady Elbereth's making."

With a smile that she meant as a kind dismissal, she edged past Haldir, watching him all the while until at last, she was beyond him. Then with a nod, she turned away from him and continued up the path. She could hear voices, muted and soft, ahead beyond the next Mallyrn, and recognized Elladan's voice as well as Legolas' among a mix of others.

"But as wise as the Valar are," Haldir protested, his voice almost desperate, "then surely they see your greatness, as do I, and I do not doubt that Elbereth herself would value you above her own stars."

Lalaith stopped again, withholding a sigh of exasperation. "She is of the Valiër, who are of greater beauty than one such as I could ever dream," she murmured, turning again to ace Haldir who watched after her with such a wistful gaze, that almost against her will, a warmth touched and softened her heart, smoothing away the hard edge it had gained since Alcarion's death. "Of what value am I," Lalaith asked, her voice misty with pleading, "a mere, fallible maiden, in her eyes?"

"You are of great value to me."

At these words, so tremulous and soft, Lalaith's heart skipped a beat, and she studied Haldir a long moment, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, and the pleading. "Of greater value than your dear friend, Lothirien? I doubt that. For you barely know me, yet you have known and loved her, all your life. Perhaps you should go seek her out. It has been less than a week since she lost her parents. Doubtless, she still needs you."

At these words, Haldir's eyes fell, his face suddenly written with shadow, and unsure.

For a moment, Lalaith wondered if she had hurt him with her words, but she was not given the time to discover whether this was so or not, for behind her, came the soft, nearly inaudible sound of footsteps.

"Lalaith?"

She turned at the familiar, well loved tones of Legolas' voice, and managed a brave smile for him as he stood before her on the trail, his eyes flashing back and forth between her and Haldir.

"Is all well?" he asked, his eyes also falling to the quiver hanging at her side, and almost forgotten.

"It is, my friend," she answered, wondering at the guarded look Legolas flashed over her shoulder at Haldir.

"We are ready to depart. Is there anything you have yet to finish here?" Legolas asked. He drew a step closer, gathered her quiver up into his own hands, and offered her his arm.

She took it readily, grateful for the strength his touch seemed to lend to her, yet she turned one last time, and glanced back at Haldir.

"Thank you, my lord, for your kind words. We will meet again, when next I come to the Golden Wood."

"May that day be soon." Haldir returned. "Farewell, Lalaith of Imladris."

"Farewell, Haldir of Lórien."

Lalaith turned away from him at last, leaving him standing erect and unmoving upon the trail, for Legolas' urging had become minutely insistent as she had bid farewell to the March Warden of Lothlórien.

"Is all well, Lalaith?" Legolas asked again as the trees fell behind them, and the party of Elves ready to depart the Golden Wood appeared. Arwen was mounting her own horse, having just left Galadriel's farewell embrace, and raised a somber smile to Lalaith as she and Legolas drew near.

"Yes, it is, Legolas," she returned. "Did I not say as much, before?"

"Of what did you and Haldir speak?" he asked again, the fraught worry unmasked in his voice.

Lalaith paused, turning to her friend who stopped as well, and she offered him a twisted smile, wondering at the worry and the insistence within his questioning gaze.

"Very little, Legolas," she sighed resignedly. Why, suddenly, did she feel so weary, as if the two men were trying to pull her in entirely opposite directions? "He merely wished for me to understand that Alcarion's death, and his wife's were not of my making. For I have been blaming myself, and he noticed it."

"_Ai_." Legolas muttered, a guilty expression suddenly crossing his face, and quickly, he began walking again, guiding Lalaith to the waiting Elves, and the horses who were to bear them away. "I had thought it was something else-,"

"Why?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "What did you think he spoke of?"

But Legolas did not answer, for they had come at last to their waiting companions, and Galadriel was drawing near, to give Lalaith a final embrace before bidding them a safe journey.

"Grandmother." Lalaith sighed, letting herself be enfolded in Galadriel's gentle embrace. She smiled against Galadriel's shoulder, breathing in the sweet scent that she had known from infancy. So comforting and wise was the Lady of Lothlórien. One glance into her wise, yet ageless eyes, and Lalaith felt as if Galadriel knew her thoughts to the very core of her mind. Yet she sensed also, that the Lady would judge kindly what she found there.

"Safe journey, my dear one." Galadriel entreated, drawing back, and offering her a gentle smile. "I will await your next visit with anticipation." Turning, she gazed at Legolas levelly, and enjoined, "Watch after her, my young Prince."

"I will, my lady. Always." Legolas said, his warm words spoken with the air of a solemn promise.

"Oh, my dear one." Galadriel sighed, again turning back to Lalaith as Celeborn drew near. "What difficulties lie ahead for you, only the Valar know." A troubled look passed over her face, and Lalaith pursed her lips softly, unconsciously gnawing at her lower lip. Before Galadriel seemed to shake herself, and focused her gaze upon Lalaith, a troubled smile touching her lips. "Do not stray from the path where your heart leads, my dear one."

"I-, yes, Grandmother." Lalaith returned obediently, though her thoughts were confused as to what Galadriel's meaning could be.

"Farewell, little one." Celeborn added, now stepping forward, and warming her with a smile of his own. "Safe journey."

"Thank you, Grandfather." Lalaith smiled, reveling in the warmth of their affection and acceptance as she had, when she had been a child. It mattered little now, that they were not her grandparents by blood, for they loved her as their own, as they always had.

"Let me help." Celeborn added, catching Lalaith about her narrow waist, and lifting her easily to the back of her cream white horse that had moved near, obediently awaiting her to mount him.

The others, she noticed now, were all mounted, for Legolas too, was just swinging to the back of his own mount. And at a word from Elladan, the company began to move out.

"Remember," Galadriel called after her, almost plaintively as Lalaith turned, "follow your heart's path. It will not lead you astray."

"Yes, Grandmother. I will." Lalaith assured her, feeling a strange stirring of wonder within her at why Galadriel had repeated her words. Without understanding why, she turned her head, glancing over at Legolas who rode near her, so close, that if she wished, she could reach out, and take his hand within hers.

He smiled at her, a tender, encouraging smile, and she slowly returned it before glancing again over her shoulder at Galadriel and Celeborn, who watched after their departure, Galadriel's smooth white hand raised in a farewell.


	7. Chapter 7

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 7**

**December 26, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 7

Lalaith sat alone in the airy, open chamber, empty but for the high posted bed of dark polished wood, reflecting, almost as brilliantly as polished metal, the muted light of night that it caught and cast back in its smooth, burnished surface. The bed, set upon an oval dais of white stone, descending in three tiers to the white stone floor of polished marble, was the chief feature of the room, and now its only ornament, the only hint that this room had once been occupied, for any other trace of habitation in the room had been removed long ago.

The once delicate, shimmering veils that hung from its banisters and fanned in the gentle night wind, were now a dull grey, and ragged at the edges, showing the inevitable wear that time greedily claimed, even upon elven cloth.

Lalaith sat upon the bare floor, swept clean by the ever blowing breezes that plucked at her hair and nightgown, her legs folded beneath her as she gazed contemplatively out over the vale of Imladris through the gauzy curtains that hung before the balcony, and were dull and ragged, catching tiredly at the soft wind, hanging in the same aged state as the veils surrounding the bed. No one but she had been in this room for over three centuries, Lalaith realized, sighing gloomily to herself, for this had been the bed chamber of Elrond and Celebrian before her aunt had sailed to Valinor.

She traced a long, tapered finger over the marbled patterns in the white translucent stone upon which she sat, remembering Celebrian's face as if it were yesterday. How could she forget, when Celebrian had so perfectly filled the place of the mother Lalaith could not remember, even in her deepest dreams?

But the details of Celebrian's departure, were faded, and muted in her memory. Lalaith remembered her stark terror when she learned of her aunt's abduction at the hands of orcs, and her fear, and waiting, chafing as the hours and days dragged, when Elladan and Elrohir went to seek out their mother. And she would never forget the wave of relief that had nearly overcome her, when her cousins had brought Celebrian home, alive, and Lalaith wondering in her youthful, innocent mind, why all was not suddenly well again. Celebrian was home, and safe, lovingly healed her of her outward wounds, so why then, did she still seem broken, and sad?

Lalaith drew in a deep sigh as she remembered weeping for days after the journey to the Grey Havens, where Celebrian had bidden them all farewell, boarded the ship, and had sailed away from them. Their return had been somber, for a light had gone out of the elven realm of Imladris that could not be ignited again. Elrond had been of somber mood for months after, his eyes empty, his voice hushed, and quiet. And he had walked long at night, pacing upon the portico, unable to sleep, and refusing entirely, to return to the chambers he had shared with his beloved. At last, he had ordered that his things be moved to a smaller room in the house, far away from the rooms that had once been his and Celebrian's. Yet still, his mood was not lightened. Lalaith had begun to wonder if ever Elrond would be the uncle she had known through childhood, for it seemed he was lost in a grief in which he was doomed to remain.

Yet one day, his mood at last, unexpectedly lightened. It was a sunny day, and warm but not overly so, when she had been in his study, reading a book of the largely unknown little people, the _pheriannath_, with their quaint, child-like ways, and thinking she was alone. She had found a passage which had humored her, and she had laughed aloud suddenly, surprising a pair of birds perched in the lattice that edged the eaves of the porch beyond where she sat. Twittering in surprise, they had flown away, but they had not been the only ones to hear her.

A moment later, her head still bent over her book, she had felt a presence, and had looked up to see her uncle, a smile, long absent from his face, curving the corners of his lips.

"_Thank you, my little Lalaith_." He had murmured, leaning down to kiss her brow.

"_What for, uncle_?" She had returned, confused, yet pleased to see him smiling at last.

"_For your laughter_." He had returned, his smile growing. "_You were well named, my little maiden with stars in her hair. Seeing you happy, returns in part, my own happiness. Because of you, I remember now, that I have not lost all._"

After that, Elrond's mood had begun to change for the better. But she knew it was not due to her, surely. Elrond's life was not better because of her. But rather, it was because of his generous heart that her life was as blessed as it was.

Lalaith glanced down at her hand, studying the golden band set with a sapphire embossed with the crest of Elrond's house. It was slightly loose upon her long tapered finger, and she twisted it about absently. Why had Elrond taken her in, when she was not truly his kin? He had borne her no obligation. She could easily have dwelt in Mirkwood instead as the ward of Thranduilion, for that was where she had been found. But at the thought, Lalaith narrowed her eyes, and banished it immediately. Imladris was where she belonged, where she had been meant to dwell ere long before her infant eyes had lifted to the high, sloping roofs of the Last Homely House, or her tiny ears had heard the comforting echo of the misty falls. She knew it somehow, as if the Valar had decreed it. And Legolas-, she loved him well, but she had never been meant to be as his sister.

Why? She wondered, continuing to twist the ring thoughtful about. She cared deeply for Legolas, but not as she cared for Elladan and Elrohir. Though she had loved him with sisterly affection when she had been small, something was different, now. It had lain within her heart as a seed for as long as her memory could delve, and in the past centuries, it had begun to swell and grow, like a sprouting vine, that was beginning to show forth its first buds, soon to burst forth into flower, the beauty of which she could not yet foresee.

"Lalaith, dear?" The voice, feminine, and slightly distraught, came to her through the doorway which she had left open. "What are you doing in here?" Arwen asked, coming into view, clad in her sleeping gown with a white robe thrown hurriedly about her shoulders, as Lalaith turned her head, and offered her a half hearted smile.

"Thinking."

"I suppose so." Arwen agreed with a twisted smirk, glancing about at the bare floors, the barren walls, and the smaller empty rooms bathed in cool purple shadows that branched away from the main bedchamber. "There's little else you _could_ do." She smiled down at her younger cousin, and sat down beside her, her eyes sparkling ruefully. "You weren't in your bed. I looked everywhere for you. I was near to panicking, and waking the whole household! But then I thought to come up here."

"Forgive me." Lalaith muttered humbly, though not without a slim smile. "Why were you looking for me? I did not think my absence would be noticed."

"Legolas sent one of the maids with a message for you." Arwen said, a tiny smirk curving her lips. "When you did not answer her knocking, she came to wake me. Legolas wished for you to know that he is leaving at first light. I think-," Arwen's smirk grew slightly, "he is hoping that though it will be early, you will be there, to see him off."

At the mention of his name, Lalaith glanced downward at the ring upon her hand, feeling a warmth rising in her cheeks. She could not see the growing smile upon Arwen's face, fading as she once again looked up.

"Arwen, I've been thinking-," Lalaith whispered in a terse voice. "Of Alcarion, and his wife, Brethiliel."

Arwen shifted her position, and with a taut edge to her voice, began, "Lalaith, the fault was not yours-,"

"I know." Lalaith sighed, softly biting her lip as she slowly twisted her ring about her finger. "But still, I find myself thinking almost constantly of them. They loved each other so much, that Brethiliel chose to give up her life, rather than remain here." Lalaith whispered. "Have you ever felt strongly enough for a man, that you would be willing to die for him?"

Arwen paused, and her eyes grew deep. The question sinking deep into her heart as she studied over it within her mind. After a long moment, the dark haired maiden stood slowly, and made her way toward the pillars that stood spaced before the balcony, and leaned thoughtfully against one, drawing the graying veil aside to have a better view of the moonlit valley below them.

"There is something in me," Arwen said, her voice wistful as Lalaith too rose, and moved into the light that washed the balcony to join her cousin, "a silent voice, or a feeling-," Arwen drew in a breath and held it a moment before slowly releasing it. "I feel-," Arwen hugged her arms to herself, and sighed deeply. "I feel incomplete, Lalaith. As if the one meant for me, is not yet-,"

She glanced at Lalaith, an expression of mild confusion on her face as she sighed, "Have you ever felt as if you missed someone you have never met?" Arwen's voice was a whisper so soft, that Lalaith wondered at first if Arwen had meant it only as a thought spoken aloud.

"I-," Lalaith began, but stopped suddenly. For in truth, she had no idea what Arwen meant.

"No, you wouldn't." Arwen said softly, and glanced at Lalaith with a wistful smile. "Legolas completes you."

Lalaith blushed, and opened her mouth, wishing to protest against what Arwen was so blatantly hinting at, but quickly she closed her mouth again, for that is indeed how she felt when she was with him. Complete. As if she could not want for anyone or anything else. As if the Valar themselves had fashioned them for each other. And, she admitted, if she were called upon to do so, she knew she would willingly die for him.

"I suppose he does complete me." Lalaith said, her own voice now a soft murmur. "That is what good friends do, after all."

Arwen gave a soft smile, and said nothing to this. And in place of any words she could have said, she stepped closer to her younger cousin, and slipped her arm around her shoulders, giving it a comforting squeeze.

Lalaith turned, and cast a smiling glance at her older cousin before they turned again and gazed out over the slumbering, moonlit valley.


	8. Chapter 8

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 8**

**December 27, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 8

The soft, though incessant clatter of an elven loom found its way into Legolas' ears as he made his way through the bright passages of the his father's castle. Though truly a series of caves it was, the halls and corridors, and rooms were all spacious and well lit, most often by sunlight, where it streamed through high windows bored through the cliffs of stone to the outer air, giving it a feel of a vast, bright palace, rather than as a cave. Perhaps, had he not been raised within these halls, and in the great green wood that was his father's realm, he would be as wary of entering these caves as Lalaith was, whenever she came to these woods. She was far more used to the airy houses of Imladris, and of the bright tree borne dwellings of Lothlórien. Legolas smiled to himself, thinking of her, unable to fault her apprehension. For even to him, one who had dwelt in his father's caves from his earliest memory, the very thought of true caves, was distasteful beyond measure. Those caves that bore deep into the earth with labyrinth tunnels where the squat, small-minded Dwarves chose to delve for their lifeless treasures, bereft of the light of the moon and sun, and of the stars, and the scent of living, growing things.

Legolas put such thoughts aside, and his smile grew as he came through a high stone doorway into a room, lit brightly by a small window high overhead. The Elf woman, seated before her loom with her back to Legolas, had not heard his entrance, and he smiled as he watched her work. The square of cloth forming upon her loom, seemed to be a small square of blanket. So another baby had been born among the Wood Elves. This was her way; ever aware of the needs of her people, ever ready to give comfort, though she was never eager for the acknowledgement of her good deeds. She was a queen content to let her husband rule the affairs of the kingdom, and to give him her support and counsel when her wisdom was needed. But she was not as visible, nor as powerful a figure as the Lady of the Golden Wood, Galadriel. Still, she was equally strong in spirit, and in the goodness of her heart, and Legolas loved her for it.

She remained absorbed in her work as he drew closer, and Legolas grinned as he bent, drinking in the warm, sweet scent of her that he recalled from his earliest memories, and kissed her on the back of her head where her long golden tresses spilled unbound down her back to her slim, girlish waist.

"_Ai_!" Aseaiel gasped and spun quickly, her eyes lighting with surprise and delight to see her son returned. "Legolas, you silly child!" She cried, leaping to her feet to throw her arms about her son's neck.

"Welcome." She continued, as Legolas returned her embrace, nearly lifting her off of the floor in his exuberance. "Have you seen your father, yet?"

"Not yet, but I mean to, soon." He placed the two scrolls he had brought with him, into her hands. "I bring correspondence from Lord Elrond. And from Lord Celeborn, as well."

"Celeborn?" Aseaiel drew back, a questioning look coming upon her face. "You went to Lothlórien?"

"A message came from Galadriel while I was in Imladris. Orcs were on the borders of Lothlórien. Elladan and a contingent went to help drive them off."

"And you, and our Elves, as well." Aseaiel sighed, her eyes traveling over her son as if seeking for visible signs of injury.

"And Lalaith went, too, Mother." Legolas sighed.

Aseaiel held back a smile, hearing within her son's voice a tone of longing, and of melancholy.

"Oh?" She asked, dropping her eyes to the letters her son had placed within her hands. She slipped the sealed scroll from Elrond through the belt at her waist, and broke the seal of the letter from Celeborn. "To fight?" She asked absently as her eyes slowly began to travel over the words.

"Yes." He returned, his voice almost forlorn.

"Well, Elrond has raised her well. She is a maiden who follows her heart." Aseaiel glanced back up at him, searching his eyes. "She will not be held back when she sets her heart upon something. She is good for you, my son." Her eyes returned to the parchment before her, and she asked as she read, "Lalaith wasn't hurt, was she?"

"No." Legolas shook his head quickly. "But-,"

"Oh," Aseaiel breathed softly, and a hand went to her mouth, and her eyes stopped at the words that made her face blanche. "One of the Lórien Elves fell."

"And Lalaith was next to him when he was struck down." Legolas murmured. "I think-, the arrow was meant for her, but he took it instead and-,"

"Lalaith is changed, somewhat?" Aseaiel asked quietly, lowering her hand so that Celeborn's letter fell against her skirt, forgotten for the moment as she turned her attention fully upon her son.

"She is." Legolas muttered in a soft voice. "She was quiet on our return to Imladris, and during the remainder of my stay, she seemed thoughtful, and morose. She did not avoid my company, but she did not seek me out, either. She did not sing so readily as she used to, and she laughed not at all. She hardly spoke, unless I spoke first."

"And you are worried for her?" Aseaiel asked softly, smiling gently as she asked with soft inquiry, "Worried for her feelings for you, perhaps?"

"I do not know if she could ever-," Legolas' voice ended, his thought unspoken.

"Of course, she came to see you off at your departure." Aseaiel said as a statement, rather than as a question.

"Yes." Legolas breathed, his eyes gazing off elsewhere, as at a memory for which he felt great fondness, yet one which he also felt great uncertainty over.

"Then you have nothing to fear." Aseaiel consoled, reaching out, and putting a hand gently upon her son's arm.

"She has experienced a great tragedy, Legolas." Aseaiel continued, and sighed deeply as Legolas' eyes returned to study her own; eyes that reminded her so much of the plaintive, passionate child he had once been. "She has a pained and confused heart I would wager, yet she is strong. She is growing because of it. Her love for you has not waned, my son. She will be better for what has happened. And the bright maiden she was before will return, though wiser than she once was."

"Do you think so, Mother?" Legolas pleaded, his brows knit into a somber, thoughtful expression, showing, without words the deep, poignant feelings of his heart.

"I am certain of it." Aseaiel assured him, lifting her hand from his arm, and gently touching his youthful cheek. So strong and wise he was, a son to be proud of. And yet at times so adorably timid and unsure, most often when his thoughts were turned upon Lalaith.

"Return to her in the spring, Legolas." Aseaiel suggested suddenly, with a brightness in her voice that caused a spark to take hold within her son's eyes. "See her again, and soon. When the first buds begin to push out of the ground, go to her. I know she will be glad to have you return to Imladris, so quickly. You will see the change for yourself, then."

"Would Father allow me to go back, so soon?" Legolas asked, his eyes dimming with worry.

"He will." Aseaiel assured her son in a consoling voice that brought a hopeful smile to his lips. "For your father is as fond of Elrond's golden haired niece as I am."

Looping her free hand through Legolas' arm, Aseaiel urged, "Come. Let us go find him. He will be wanting to see these letters, I think." With a smile, she added in a playful tone, "And if he is reluctant to send you back so soon, then I will overrule him." She smiled sweetly. "For I am the queen. And I can be as zealous as Galadriel, _when_ I have a mind to be."

Legolas stifled a smile, for he knew that his mother was right, and his heart lightened considerably as he followed his mother's lead as she led him from her workroom, off in search of Thranduil.


	9. Chapter 9

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 9**

**December 29, 2003**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 9

"_Elladan, wake up_!"

Vaguely conscious of someone's hand on his shoulder, roughly jostling him, Elladan became slowly aware of a blinding light piercing through the shadows of sleep in which he was emerged, and he blinked, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes as he slowly came back to the waking world, groggy and short-nerved.

"Elrohir, are you mad?" he groaned, shoving his younger twin's arm aside, reducing the cruel glare of the bright lamp Elrohir carried as he sat on the edge of his older twin's bed. Elladan glanced out his wide window into the starlit night beyond. A soft wind wafted in through the gauzy curtains, bringing with it, the scent of new spring blossoms. "It's the middle of the night! What in all of Arda do you want?"

"What?" Elrohir returned, the lamplight casting off of his lean features, etched with mockery and sarcasm. "You're not angry are you? Did I waken you from a sweet dream inhabited by none but you and a pretty maiden?"

"Shut that abomination of a hole in the middle of your face, until you are ready to tell me _why_ you are _here_!" fumed Elladan, lifting his head.

Elrohir, far from being intimidated, took in Elladan's fuming, half sleepy countenance, and threw his head back in merry laughter.

"_Elrohir_!" Elladan burst, thrusting himself upward, and seizing the nearest object to which he could lay his hands upon, and drew his arm back, as if he intended to throw it.

With a squawk, reminiscent of a large, awkward bird, Elrohir leaped away from the edge of his brother's bed, and ducked behind a wooden screen. His eyes held a delighted sparkle in them as he peered through the ribboned wood that had been carved to imitate weaving, trailing vines. It would not provide him adequate shielding, and would shatter like kindling, were Elladan to launch the prospective projectile he still held within his hand.

"Think of mother!" Elrohir cried in a voice that failed to hide his laughter. "That was one of hers, from Lothlórien!"

Elladan glanced at the small figure in his hand, an elven minstrel with a tiny harp in his motionless hands. With a groan of fury and frustration, he brought it down upon the wooden stand at his bedside with a resounding slam, where the small marble statue rocked dangerously, but then came to a shuddering halt, and stood still.

"Very well!" Elladan seethed through clenched teeth as his brother came smiling, out from behind the screen. "So tell me! What are you doing in my room, fully dressed, in the middle of the night?"

"Those tiny tadpoles in that little inlet at the bottom of the cliff?" Elrohir said in a soft voice, coming back to sit tentatively upon the edge of his brother's bed again.

"What of them?" Elladan demanded, drawing his knees up, and resting his elbows wearily upon them.

"They've grown into little frogs. About this size." Elrohir hissed in a low, secretive voice, holding his thumb and forefinger a mere finger's span apart, to show the size of the small frogs. "Thousands of them."

"Why in all of Arda and of all the Blessed Realm did you come to me in the middle of the night to tell me _that_, for?" Elladan groaned, letting his face fall into his hands, and shaking his head in despair.

"I've already collected a huge bag of them." Elrohir breathed, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder toward the door of Elladan's night darkened room. "They're waiting just outside your door."

"You abominable fool." Elladan muttered, falling back against his pillow, and throwing one arm over his eyes. "Go back to bed."

"And-," Elrohir said in a low, wicked voice that caused Elladan to raise his arm and glance up at his brother, upon whose face had formed a sinister grin. "I checked Lalaith's door."

Elladan thrust himself upward again. "_And_?" he demanded.

Cocking one eyebrow mischievously, Elrohir finished, "She forgot to lock it."

…

Lalaith shifted in her sleep, and sighed softly, where she lay upon her stomach, sensing within her fading dreams, that morning was coming. She furrowed her brow as she slept, staring out at nothing but her muted dreamscape. When had the voices of Elrohir and Elladan entered her dreams?

"What do you think you're doing?" Elladan's voice once again hissed. "What if Father catches you?"

"_He won't catch us if you stay quiet_!" Elrohir's voice hissed back.

"_Us_? There is no _us_!" Elladan grumbled. "I'm not the one who fetched those things! I'm not the one spreading them across the foot of her bed!"

"Yes, and you are the one who is reasoning with me to give up this mad venture." Elrohir's voice answered back. "How brotherly of you. And I speak most sincerely, for both myself and Lalaith when I say this." Elrohir breathed a prolonged sigh of long-suffering. "You mean well, dear brother, but I think being the first born, has made you a bit stuffy. Remember, it has been over a century, since we tried this last. And that time, it was Arwen's turn. It's time we gifted Lalaith some new pets. She hasn't gotten any since she was near five hundred. She'll have no idea that it was us who were her benefactors."

"_Us? We_? You confounded simpleton!" Elladan cursed. "There is no us! There is no we! Who else but Elrohir of Imladris would be so daring and may I add, _stupid_ as to put frogs into the bed of Lalaith Elerrina, the Ward of Elrond, Lord of Imladris? You will be lucky if Father doesn't massacre you-,"

Her cousins' words, muffled by the fog of sleep, passed through Lalaith's slumbering mind as of something entirely unimportant. Yet the word _frogs_ shot a spark of alarm through her slumbering mind, and her fading dreamscape vanished like a mist before a wind, bringing the light of the morning suddenly into her eyes. And with a burst of sudden energy, she sat up.

In the blur of an instant, Lalaith took them both in, her two grown cousins, caught in their crime, their identical faces ashen with guilt as she gaped open mouthed at them and the tiny thumb sized frogs spread across the foot of her bed, a vast, hopping green mat of little legs, bodies, and yellow bulging eyes.

A moment later, the calm of the sleeping vale of Imladris, infused with soft morning light, and the peaceful calls of morning birds, was torn asunder by a shrill scream of fury and anger, the shrill piercing tones rivaling even the shriek of the Nazgûl.

…

Legolas reined his cream white mount to a skittered, dancing halt in the courtyard within the arching gate of Imladris, and lifted his eyes upward toward the steep sloping roofs, and smiled. He had come alone, with no entourage, and his arrival was entirely unexpected.

His father, Thranduil, had suggested sending word ahead, so that lodgings would be ready for him, and servants would be waiting. But Legolas had insisted he go unannounced this time. He would finally catch a glimpse of what life was like in Imladris without the fanfare of royal arrivals, with everything in order and readiness. And most importantly, Legolas eagerly anticipated the look of surprised delight he was sure to see upon Lalaith's face, when he came to her, unlooked for.

He closed his eyes momentarily, and breathed in the cool, fragrant scent of Imladris in the spring, and was glad he had come. He would come more often in the future, he promised himself. Thoughts of her face as he remembered Lalaith had been when they had been here together surrounded by the mists of the falls, set his heart to pounding fiercely, and he wondered again at the feeling as if his heart had taken sudden flight.

A piercing scream that echoed long off of the walls and the cliffs above him, brought his eyes open with a snap. A flock of cheerful, twittering birds in the tree nearest him, were as startled as he, and their happy avian speech was brought to an abrupt end as they took to flight, their many hundreds of wings beating at the air as they lifted out of the tree, and rose up and away, out of fear from the sharp, unexpected noise.

Whose voice had that been? Legolas wondered, his heart pounding again, but now out of uncertainty and fear as he stood in the stirrups and cast his eyes up toward the living quarters of Elrond's house, from where the sound seemed to come. The echo had scarcely died away, when a new sound came to his ears coming again, from up beyond the balustrade that guarded the porch upon which the rooms of Elrond's children, emptied.

"Come back here, you cowards!" a feminine voice screeched, fraught with wrath, followed by the sound of running feet, and men's voices, one in laughter, and one pleading vehemently in protest.

His brow furrowed, Legolas' jaw dropped slightly as he saw Elrohir, followed quickly behind by Elladan, come careening against the fluted balustrade, at the corner of the porch, as if they were running for their lives from some fearsome creature yet unseen, and had been unable to navigate the corner in their hurry.

"Come back here!" A voice Legolas could now vaguely identify as Lalaith's, ripped again through the quiet of the air, and the two elven twins glanced behind them before they once again took to flight, their booted feet pounding down the portico. Soft slaps, as of bare feet, pursued mercilessly after them, and Legolas fell again against his mount's saddle, at a complete loss as to what to make of such a clamor.

"Please, Lalaith!" Elladan's voice begged breathlessly as the footsteps pounded along. "I had nothing to do with it! It was all Elrohir! By the Valar, I swear it!"

"_Liar_!" Lalaith's voice, livid and unreasoning, screamed in return. "You're both liars!"

The clattering of feet pounded down the stone steps, of the long stairway carved beyond the corner of the house, and Legolas waited with unsure trepidation, not knowing what to expect.

"I am no liar, sweet cousin!" Elrohir's voice protested brightly, "For I deny nothing!"

He gasped amidst a bout of laughter. "Nor do I regret anything! The look upon your face when you awoke, Lalaith, with those frogs spread across your feet! Oh, sweet Elbereth!" Elrohir cried, choking on laughter, and fighting for breath in the same motion. "I shall savor that memory for as long as Arda endures!"

At this, Lalaith's scream, impossible as it seemed, only increased in intensity. "_Just wait until I catch you, you imbeciles! I'll tear your hair out_!"

And then the twins appeared, ducking beneath the low hanging branch of a tree as they came rushing toward Legolas, stopping in sudden shock as they saw him, still seated upon his mount, beneath the arching gate.

Elrohir's face gaped in surprise, but Elladan's took on sudden look of sheer panic, and he turned suddenly, darting back several steps, the way he had come.

"No, Lalaith! Stop!" he cried. "Go back to your room! You're not properly attired for-,"

A figure slender and delicate, clad in a white, almost sheer sleeping gown, burst through the trees, and tackled Elladan to the ground with a cry of victory that died away into silence as her eyes lifted, took in the sight of Legolas, and filled with sudden terror.

"_Ai_!" she gasped, her face coloring a bright pink as she leaped to her feet and cast her eyes about, seeking for some way to escape his gaze.

"Here," Elladan choked as he staggered to his feet, shrugged off his earth covered outer robe, and tossed it to his young cousin.

"Ai. Legolas had to come _now_." Elrohir mumbled guiltily as if to himself.

Only as Lalaith hurriedly shrugged on Elladan's heavy robe, much too large for her, over her thinly clad form, did Legolas once again come to his senses, and glance discreetly away.

"By all the powers of the Valar!" thundered another familiar voice as Elrond came into view, fully dressed, though his hair hung about his shoulders unbound, as if he had only just risen from sleep, and dressed hurriedly. Arwen, also fully dressed, though her long dark hair hung in a tangled array about her shoulders and down her back, came behind her father, her mouth opening in silent amazement, her eyes growing large at the sight before her.

"I was beginning to think the valley was collapsing around us!" boomed Elrond. "What business gives my own children cause to be making such a din, and in front of an honored guest?"

"Lord Elrond." Legolas gulped, leaping from the saddle at last, and coming forward to offer the Lord of Imladris a low bow. "They are not to be faulted. Perhaps I should have sent word ahead-,"

"It is quite acceptable, as you are, Prince Legolas." Elrond returned a nod to the Mirkwood Prince, then turned quickly back to his sons and Lalaith, taking in Elrohir's guilt stricken expression, Lalaith's incomplete attire, Elladan's soil covered robe flung hurriedly about her small shoulders with much of its length trailing behind her in the dirt, and Elladan himself, as dirty as his robe. Elrond said nothing, but the three visibly quavered under his heavy gaze as his mouth pursed into a fine line, and one eyebrow lifted somberly.

"Pray tell, my sons and my dear niece, why-," Elrond suddenly seemed at a loss for words as he gestured at the three of them, and their deplorable state.

A moment of silence passed. And then as one, the three of them broke into rapid words, each gesturing frantically at the others.

"Hold!" Elrond thundered, lifting a hand, and silencing the three of them.

Legolas gulped, his eyes finding Lalaith's. Her glance moved over his momentarily, before a blush darkened her cheeks, and she glanced rapidly at the ground once again.

"Lalaith," Elrond ordered with authority deepening his voice as Lalaith's eyes darted up again, "speak."

"They, they," she spluttered, clutching Elladan's robe to herself with one had as she waved her other accusingly at the twins, "they put _frogs_ in my bed!"

Elrohir snorted on a chuckle at this, and shifted his stance, his eyes ever upon the ground, while Elladan shook his head furiously. "I had no part in it, Father!" he cried. "It was all Elrohir's idea-,"

Elladan fell silent at a wave from his father's hand. The corners of Elrond's mouth twitched momentarily, giving Legolas the suspicion that he was withholding a smile, but it quickly faded.

"Therefore," he said, his eyes firmly fixing upon Lalaith, "you felt you had been given just cause to race through Imladris in naught but your night dress?"

"_They put frogs in my bed_!" she wailed, to which Elrohir could no longer hold back, and burst out into peels of laughter, bending almost double as he clutched his ribs.

"_We_ did nothing!" Elladan continued to insist, pointing frenetically at his twin. "Elrohir-,"

"I have not given you leave to speak yet, my first born." Elrond seethed, glancing at his dirt covered eldest son.

"Father, Father, please." Elrohir gasped through his laughter. "May I be granted permission to speak?"

Elrond eyed his gasping youngest son, red faced from laughter. Elrond drew in a deep breath. "If you can restrain your emotions, then yes," he said in a quiet hiss.

"Do not fault them." Elrohir chuckled, forcing himself to straighten, though tears of laughter were still streaming from his eyes, and bursts of uncontrollable bliss continued to erupt in short bursts from his lips. "Elladan and Lalaith both speak the truth. Elladan tried to convince me to give up the prank, and I provoked Lalaith. The entirety of the blame lies with me."

"Indeed?" Elrond asked slowly, to which Elrohir slowly nodded, his smile fading as he gazed into the unwavering eyes of his father.

"Yes, Father." Elrohir muttered in a voice that sounded more like the voice of a young Elfling, than of the mature man he was.

Elrond cleared his throat. "Arwen," he said, turning to his dark haired daughter who came to his shoulder, "take Lalaith back to her room, and draw her a bath."

"Yes, father," Arwen murmured, then stepped forward, gesturing to her younger cousin who stepped toward her, clearly grateful to have her older female cousin near, from whom she could draw much needed sympathy. She allowed herself to be enveloped beneath Arwen's comforting arm, and led quietly away. Legolas watched after her, but she did not glance back.

"Elladan, do the same for yourself." Elrond ordered his eldest. "Retrieve your robe from Arwen once Lalaith is safe in her room, and see that it and your other clothes are thoroughly washed."

"Yes, Father," Elladan muttered with a bow, clearly relieved.

"And you, my second born son," Elrond said with a sigh, turning on Elrohir as Elladan made a hurried exit.

Elrohir visibly gulped beneath his father's gaze.

"You my son," Elrond sighed, "may muck out the stables."

The color rushed from Elrohir's face. "But Father-,"

At a wave from Elrond's hand, Elrohir fell silent. "And once you are finished, you too, may draw yourself a bath." Elrohir made a low sound in his throat that sounded far from laughter, and began to turn away before Elrond added, "In fact, consider it an _order_ that you bathe thoroughly once you have finished. For you will need it."

Elrohir offered a half hearted nod, and began to tromp away in the direction of the stables, before Elrond called, "My son, you forget something."

Elrohir turned weary eyes back to his father.

"The Prince's horse." Elrond nodded to Legolas' cream white mount. "Give him the best oats and the crispest carrots."

"Yes, Father," Elrohir muttered flatly, and marched forward, catching the reins in his hands as he thumped heavily away in the direction of the stables.

"Elrohir." Elrond called after him before his second son had disappeared down the trail that led to the stables.

Elrohir paused.

"Thank you. For telling me the truth." Elrond called after him.

Elrohir brightened a little at this, and turned his eyes back to his father, offered a small nod, and then turned forward again, and led Legolas' mount beyond a tree blooming with young white blossoms.

"And now for you, my young prince," Elrond said, turning now upon Legolas. "You are an unexpected, though not unwelcome surprise. Come. I will show you to a spare room." At last a smile curved up the corners of Elrond's mouth as he gestured with his hand, and Legolas willingly followed his lead as they turned aside, and mounted the steps up to a low, pillar lined porch. "It is good to see you so soon after your last visit. Lalaith, I am certain, though she did not show it, is glad to have you, as well."

"I hope so, my lord," Legolas murmured, tightening his jaw at the slim smile that Elrond threw over his shoulder at him. The sound of their boots were soft and muffled in the newly regained quiet of the valley.

"She is, I trust, the reason for your visit?" Elrond queried, and to this Legolas nodded, though slowly.

"Is there anything you wish to speak of, with me?"

"My father does send his greetings," Legolas muttered hurriedly in response to Elrond's thoughtful words, and he thrust forward toward him a rolled letter set with the seal of Thranduil.

"Ah, yes. Thank you," Elrond returned, taking the letter into his hands, and thoughtfully pursing his lips as he studied it, lost in his own thoughts. "Your arrival was well timed. There is to be a feast tonight."

"Indeed? " Legolas breathed, sounding thoughtful, as if he had only now remembered it. "Ah, I remember now. Your Mid-Spring Festival."

Elrond cast a thoughtful glance at the young Elf, but Legolas ducked his head, fearing that Elrond would guess that he had known the day of the Festival all along, and had thus intentionally timed his arrival.

A soft laugh rose from Elrond's lips, and Legolas glanced swiftly up, fearing that the Lord of Imladris had guessed at his charade. But he was not looking at the young Mirkwood Prince, and was staring off ahead along the path upon which he was leading the young Elf. "Did you see their faces?" Elrond muttered softly, another soft laugh breaking forth from his lips. "My sons, and Lalaith?"

Legolas smiled at the memory. "Like little Elflings caught in the midst of a prank."

At this, Elrond stopped upon the path, and bent his head, chuckling heartily. "Like Elflings," he echoed, and shook his head, his laughter fading to a smile. "How Celebrian would laugh."

Elrond sighed, and glanced away, his lips pursing as another thought entered his mind, and he asked, almost seriously, "You do not think less of Lalaith for this childish discrepancy, do you?"

"Not at all, my lord," Legolas assured him as the two men began walking again. "If anything, I only love her all the more for it."

At his words, Elrond cast a sharp glance back at him, and Legolas found himself suddenly groping for words.

"As Elladan and Elrohir love her, as if they were her own brothers," he managed to stammer, relieved that he had not choked upon his words.

"They do, though, like brothers, they would be loath to admit it aloud," Elrond sighed. "Yet your friendship with her is a thing apart. Its like I have rarely seen." The Lord of Imladris stopped fully now, and turned to Legolas, searching his eyes with a thoughtful gaze. "You are good for her, Legolas. She merely has but to speak of you, and her whole countenance brightens."

"I pray that is so, for she is good for me as well, my lord."

"Indeed." Elrond murmured thoughtfully, glancing away as if at some distant scene that brought him a memory of something hopeful before he glanced again into Legolas' eyes. "I am glad of that." Elrond smiled. "Come."

And as the Lord of Imladris turned and continued along the portico, Legolas followed, silently musing over Elrond's words.


	10. Chapter 10

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 10**

**January 5, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 10

"Good morning, Lalaith."

At the sound of Legolas' voice, Lalaith groaned softly, and held the book within her hands closer to her face. For though she had bathed and dressed, now in a gown of soft, pearlescent cream, she remembered her antics earlier, and knew Legolas remembered them as well. She could feel a deep crimson blush washing over her face, and crushed her eyelids closed as she felt Legolas draw closer to her, and seat himself on the opposite side of the stone garden bench upon which Lalaith rested beneath the fragrant trees spilling over with brightly colored blossoms of pink.

"What are you reading?" he asked in a voice that she could tell he forced a lightness into.

"Fëanor, and the making of the Silmarils." She mumbled against the musty, sweet pages.

"He must be someone you find terribly interesting." he sighed.

"Fëanor was a petulant old goat."

She heard a soft chuckle find its way past Legolas' lips at the words that had so easily clipped out of her mouth.

"It is part of my lessons." She continued, speaking as before, to the warm pages of her book.

A long moment passed. Lalaith could hear the ever rumbling falls that poured about Imladris, and in the distant trees, a bird was singing a bright, twittering song.

"Lalaith?" Legolas voice asked, and she could hear the pleading within his voice. "Do you mean to ignore me all day?"

At these words, Lalaith let the book flop into her lap, and she glanced away, her eyes falling upon the blue and white flowers that littered the ground as thick as a carpet about the base of the trees.

"I feel like a fool, Legolas," she whispered. She could feel his eyes upon her, but could not look up and meet his eyes. "And in truth, I am surprised that you are still here, speaking to me. That you did not turn straight around and go home after my childish behavior-,"

"Lalaith," Legolas offered gently, his tone smooth and patient. His hand, warm and steady, reached out, and rested with gentle weight upon her shoulder. "That doesn't matter to me."

She clapped her book shut, pushing it from her lap onto the stone seat beside her as she stood.

Swiftly she strode several paces away and stopped, pressing her hands against her burning cheeks.

"But it matters to me!" Lalaith cried, suddenly near tears. "I wish I had known you were coming. I could have prepared. I wanted to be ready for you. I wanted to be-, pretty for you."

"Nothing could make you any less beautiful than you already are."

At Legolas' soft, plaintive tones, Lalaith could not help but turn and glance timidly over her shoulder as Legolas retrieved her forgotten book, dusting it carefully as he stood and made his way to her, his eyes deep with sympathy.

"Do not make the mistake of believing that I think less of you, simply because I have seen the liveliness of your nature, Lalaith." His words quavered through her as he stopped, only a breath of air between them as his eyes delved furtively into her own. She felt the stiff leather book between them, and her fingers closed over the proffered tome, though involuntarily, for she was aware of nothing else but Legolas' gaze, silently assailing her own.

"_Lively_, you say?" Lalaith muttered, feeling a slow smile coming to her lips. "Elladan and Elrohir would perhaps choose the word _terrifying_, I believe."

As a grin drew across Legolas' face, Lalaith's own smile grew as well. "_Now_ you are the Lalaith I know." He grinned. "I have been worried about you since Lothlórien. You were quiet for so long. And it is a relief to see your playful side again."

Lalaith's eyes fell away as his hand lifted, and she felt the touch of his fingers against her brow, brushing a glittering golden lock of hair behind the delicate peak of her ear.

"That is why you returned so soon?" She asked, lifting her eyes again, and studying his.

At Legolas' nod of affirmation, Lalaith sighed, and turned away from him, taking several steps before she turned, and offering him a tentative smile, teasingly quipped, "Perhaps I should make you worry about me more frequently."

At this, a light danced within Legolas' eyes, and he grinned. "Perhaps I _should_ worry more often, so as to have the excuse to see you more." His grin melted away and his eyes grew warm as his light steps brought him once again to within a breath of her as he finished, "For that is what I would prefer."

Lalaith's own smile faded, and she glanced swiftly away, reminding herself that he was a prince, and she was no one. Only an unknown foundling. It would be folly for her to ever hope-,

"Yet you have your duties as your father's son." She returned, drawing in a quick breath, and biting softly at her lower lip as she drew a deliberate step backward. "It would be selfish of me to keep you to myself, would it not?"

"And selfish of me, as well." Legolas agreed, his eyes silently questioning her as to why she had retreated from him, and his brows twitched in a moment of mild confusion. "I miss you, when we are apart."

Lalaith gulped, and glanced down, feeling the sudden wild pounding within her as if her heart had suddenly become a smithy's hammer. Did Legolas truly know what he was doing, when he looked at her like that, she wondered, through eyes that were innocent and soft like a child's, yet also wise and warm, bearing within them, the wisdom of centuries. Deeper within the secret recesses of her heart, secret even to her waking thoughts, moved something, deep and poignant, and beautiful, when his eyes were upon her. She shook her head to herself, and turned swiftly away, willing the incessant pounding within her to still. Of all the turmoil he caused within her, Legolas was blissfully ignorant. And should remain so.

"Ah, Legolas." She sighed, closing her eyes, and drinking deeply of the sweetly scented air that drifted about them, washing past her face, and playing with cool fingers, through her hair.

"'Twould be a wasted day, sitting about, doing nothing but reading of our dear Fëanor, and his treacherous little trinkets. Come with me. I want to show you something."

She smiled and held her hand out to him, as he with unveiled enthusiasm came toward her, and took it, his fingers weaving easily through hers. How easily her hand fit within his, she marveled silently as she led him up the path toward the steeply sloping roofs. As if a sculptor had designed them, each for the other.

…

Legolas could not help but steal glances at Lalaith as she led him up a stairway as it branched away from the main house, and up along the side of the high cliff that encircled the vale. The steps were carved of the cliff face itself, and were edged by a row of marching pillars, arched over by a fluted roof. Above them, the steps ended at the door of a little house upon a wide ledge, built in the manner of those lower in the valley, though it was smaller, and its walls, aside from a generously wide balcony that gazed out over the gardens, and the whole of Imladris, were more enclosing, affording whomever occupied the picturesque little dwelling a good deal of privacy.

As much as Legolas wondered about this place, and why Lalaith was taking him here, he kept the greater part of his focus upon her. Her cheeks were colored to the hue of a soft rose, though now with excitement, and the exertion of the climb, rather than by shyness, as they had been before. And wispy strands of her hair had been twisted back behind her head, with tiny white flowers tucked in here and there, no doubt placed there by her doting cousin Arwen. Her gown was one he had seen on her before, fashioned of creamy pearlescent cloth woven in Lórien, a gift from Lady Galadriel, he remembered. The sleeves hung open at her elbows flowing downward, while the scooped neck of her gown, embroidered at the edge with silver threads of mithril, hung loosely from the edges of her narrow, sculpted shoulders. And, he observed, as he often had in the past, that the gown fit her slender, youthful body perfectly, like a glove. He glanced away from her, falling back a step and turning his eyes over the gardens below him, that now he was up so high, seemed to veritably spill over with the soft young greens, and the bright colors that marked springtime in Imladris. The high climb, he had noted a moment before, was causing Lalaith to breathe more rapidly, and the sight of the rise and fall of her deepened breathing beneath the smooth shimmering bodice of her gown, suddenly made his insides feel as if they had been tied into a jumble of tangle knots.

"What is this place?" Legolas asked, by way of taking his mind off of his suddenly confounded emotions as they at last drew to the top of the long steps, and the stoop before a white arching doorway.

Lalaith pushed upon the unlatched door which squeaked softly before it gave way beneath the pressure of her fingers.

Legolas' brows drew together in a silent question as the room bathed in cool shadow came into view, empty but for the dark wooden bed with its high polished posts, upon the raised dais.

"These used to be the chambers of my aunt and uncle." She sighed, indicating to the smooth, barren walls, and the smaller rooms branching off into shadow. "Before Aunt Celebrian sailed to Valinor."

"Ah." Legolas said, nodding slowly as understanding grew upon his face. The coverlet, the pillows, all were there, but lay untouched as they had for centuries within the aged, crinkled veil that hung low from the high banisters.

"Come, Legolas. The view of Imladris is breathtaking from here." Lalaith said as she swept through the high ceilinged chamber toward the wide balcony where the light of the late morning spilled through. She paused at the aged and graying veils that hung before the balcony between several slender columns, and slipped softly between the delicate curtains to lean with a sigh, against one of the fluted pillars.

She had become a warm shadow to Legolas now through the ragged edged veils, a shadow etched in gold from the gentle light of late morning that washed the balcony around her. With the golden sunlight falling around her, shining through her gown as through the silver mist of a cloud, and dancing off of the star washed highlights in her hair, she looked as he imagined one of the fair Valiër might look, and he smiled at the thought.

"For the first fifteen years of my life, I slept in a little trundle bed beside theirs." She said softly, barely turning as he came onto the balcony beside her, and caught a stray lock of hair that lifted in a soft breeze, feeling the cool silkiness of the errant lock between his thumb and forefinger before he released it, letting it continue to float about in the soft breeze that lifted up the side of the cliff swirling gently around them both as it continued to rise in the morning's warming air.

"I remember sometimes, climbing into bed beside them, when I could not sleep." Lalaith continued, her voice filled with wistful memories, to which Legolas smiled. "Aunt Celebrian's hair was so soft against my face, and she would hold me close, and sing me back to sleep with lullabies she had made for me." A light laugh came out of Lalaith's lips as she continued, "I was their baby, she would sing, as cherished as the children she had carried in her womb. But I, she said, was a special blessing, a gift from the Valar themselves."

"She was a wise woman, your aunt." Legolas soothed, allowing his hand to stray again to hers, and caught her fingers lightly within his own.

Lalaith glanced over her shoulder, her eyes plaintive, and shimmering with tears that she would not allow to fall. "I still miss her, sometimes."

"You still have your uncle, and the others. And they all love you." Legolas declared, his voice soft, though there were furtive tones beneath the quiet. "As I do."

"Legolas." She murmured, her tone suddenly timid and childlike, as she studied his eyes with a shimmering gaze. "Forgive me. I-," she brushed her hand under her eyes, and her smile came swiftly back. "I brought you here, so that you could see all the valley as it is, in the springtime." She indicated a hand at the wide vista spread below them. "Something to make you happy. And instead, I end up crying to you about things I cannot change." She offered a rueful laugh.

"Lalaith." Legolas muttered, drawing close and slipping his hand into hers, his tone one of gentle chastisement. "Trusting another enough to show him the hidden things in your heart, is not a weakness. Nor is missing one you love. Lord Elrond, I do not doubt, has many such moments as this." He paused, before swiftly adding, "When you and I are apart, I miss you with an ache that is so great, it is like a physical pain. And you are not even in Valinor."

Lalaith looked up at him as he said this, her eyes soulful and deep, shimmering like two sapphires. What her eyes could do to him, he sighed to himself, she would never know. Set within such a face as hers, her skin smooth and warm, her pert little nose that had a habit of crinkling when she laughed, and her mouth, full and expressive as it was-,

"I have yet to show you all the hidden things that I bear in my heart." She said, her voice quavering as she spoke.

"Perhaps someday, I will earn enough of your trust, that you will show them to me." He returned, his own voice barely above a whisper.

At his words, Lalaith bit softly at her bottom lip and glanced downward, her cheeks once again taking on the hue of a soft rose.

He took a step nearer to her, his heart leaping wildly in his chest and she stood as she was, pressed against the smooth pillar at her back. His fingers released her own, and his hand slid slowly up her arm, his fingers lightly trailing over the curve of her shoulder, and to the flesh of her throat. "Lalaith," he breathed, tipping her chin up so that her eyes lifted to his as he drew even closer to her.

"My uncle would want me to finish my reading before the festival tonight." Lalaith suddenly gasped in a tremulous voice as she pulled her face away from his touch, and stepped from between Legolas and the pillar at her back. The book she had carried within her other hand, was clutched in trembling hands.

Gulping, Legolas drew a step backward, his eyes falling away. Why had she pulled so swiftly away?

"Come, then." He said, forcing a light smile upon his face as he nodded toward a carven stone bench against the balustrade. "I will read to you, if you wish."

He extended his hand for the thick tome, but Lalaith smiled, amused, shaking her head as she did. "No, my friend." She laughed softly. "For unless I am the one to read, I will most assuredly fall asleep." Her familiar, easy tone had returned, and she reached for his hand again, guiding him toward the bench, where she sat, and drew him down beside her. "I will read aloud, for both of us."

"Very well." Legolas returned easily. At this, he turned, letting his feet hang over the side of the bench lengthwise, the toes of his boots barely touching the polished stone of the floor at their feet, as he folded his hands across his stomach, and settled his head comfortably in her lap, closing his eyes.

"_Ai_, Legolas." Lalaith sighed, brushing her free hand across his brow, eliciting a smile upon his face. "So _you_ will sleep, then?"

"By the Valar, no, lady. I cannot sleep with my eyes closed. I cannot dream when I do that." Legolas cracked open one eyelid and glanced up at her teasingly. "And I would not be so dishonorable as to force such a fair maiden as you to suffer through her tedious studies alone."

"Ah, sweet prince, you're so gallant." Lalaith giggled, placing a hand softly against his throat, and brushing her thumb along his jaw.

Both his eyes opened as she did this, and the smile faded from Legolas' face, for he knew that her touch was meant only as the familiar touch of a friend. Yet to Legolas, the light brush of her flesh upon his, sent shards of flame through his body, and set his heart fiercely pounding.

Quickly, he closed his eyes again, and forced his casual smile back, hoping she would think nothing of its momentary disappearance. "Read on, fair lady." He bid her, with an air of mocking importance, to which she giggled again, then drawing the soft touch of her hand away from his throat, she settled her arm casually across his shoulders as, with her other, she let the book fall open within her palm, allowed its pages to settle, and with a soft clearing of her throat, she began to read.


	11. Chapter 11

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 11**

**January 6, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 11

"Good evening, my dear brother." Elladan smiled, his grin half cocked in a satisfied expression as he drew near Elrohir and flopped down beside him. Within one hand, he held a wine glass, half full, and in the other a full glass which he pushed into his brother's hand. "Why this gloomy expression on such a fine night?"

Elrohir's jaw tightened and he glanced away from the dance floor where couples had been swirling in time to the light, quick pace of the musicians tucked away against the far wall. With scowling eyes he surveyed the contented expression upon his brother's face before his eyes dropped to the dark red liquid in the glass his brother had handed him, swirled it thoughtfully and muttered, "Father dismissed the regular stable hands."

"Ah, so you were given the task of cleaning out the stables all by yourself." Elladan asked smoothly, taking a thoughtful sip from his own glass, before glancing up and away toward a corner where two maidens stood, watching them from a distance as if they were terribly interested in what the twins might be talking about.

"Yes," he seethed through his teeth, following his brother's gaze. Both girls were rather pretty, Elrohir admitted to himself, one fair haired and dressed in soft green while the other was darker haired and adorned in a wine colored gown. At his gaze, the girls twittered excitedly like a pair of little birds, and the fair haired maiden turned to the other, whispering something hurriedly into her ear which the second maiden smiled at.

Elladan lifted one eyebrow in thoughtful contemplation, then turned to his brother, leaned closer, and sniffed tentatively.

"Do not fear." Elrohir grumbled, shoving Elladan in the shoulder. "I've bathed thoroughly."

"I wonder then," Elladan smirked, clearly enjoying himself, "why all the maidens seem to be shunning you."

"Perhaps, brother," Elrohir breathed as a slow sneer spread across his face, "it is my hideous, orcish looks."

Elladan's smile endured a moment longer before he realized what his twin had said, and quickly his smile fell from his face.

"Ah, Elladan," Elrohir breathed in a soothing tone, "let us not quarrel on such a fine night as this. Do you not see Lalaith? She is completely recovered from the ordeal this morning that we-,"

"_You_-," Elladan shot in.

"put her through," continued Elrohir, taking a casual sip from his glass. He nodded at the fair haired maiden, the Prince of Mirkwood beside her, as the pair danced among the other couples. A smile as bright and gentle as starlight rested upon her face, while within her eyes rested unfathomable joy as she gazed up at Legolas as he led her in gracefully around the room, swirling now, near and past the two brothers.

Much of Elladan's ire with his twin melted away as he saw her happiness, and a smile slowly found its way back to his face. She was attired in a light gown of soft sky blue that seemed to float about her as she danced, and her long golden hair was adorned with a crown of flowers, one which Legolas had more than likely woven together for her, himself.

"_She_ looks happy, does she not?" Elrohir urged.

"She's happy," Elladan murmured, his voice now low and conspiratorial, "because Legolas is here."

"True enough." Elrohir agreed in a soft voice that had grown suddenly serious. "And I begin to suspect what Father has believed all along."

"Indeed." Elladan murmured, equally as sober. "It is but a matter of time, and they will discover it for themselves."

"I wish them well." Elrohir said, his tone reflective.

Elladan glanced sideward at his brother. A thoughtful glint was growing within Elrohir's eyes as he watched Lalaith, content and happy, within Legolas' arms. A whisper of a smile crossed Elladan's lips at this, for he saw now, that in spite of Elrohir's pranks, and his relentless teasing, in his heart, he truly cared for the maiden who was not theirs by blood, but was as dear as Arwen was to them. Like Elladan, Elrohir wanted nothing short of her happiness.

"Come, brother." Elladan said with a deep breath, clapping his brother upon the shoulder, and rising to his feet, drawing Elrohir up with him. "Too selfish have the sons of Elrond been, conversing with none but each other, unwilling to impart their appealing charms upon the fairer sex."

At this, Elrohir chuckled aloud, and trading a roguish grin with Elladan, the brothers set off toward the two maidens who had been watching them, and who fairly beamed at their approach.

…

Legolas closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, savoring the taste of the cool night air as he walked hand in hand with Lalaith along an earthen path through the shade of the scented gardens beneath the soft light of the stars. The silent whisper of the falls surrounded them as they walked, and even with his eyes closed, he could feel the cool light of the stars upon his face. Opening his eyes again, he studied them, and quietly marveled, certain that they seemed to shimmer even more brilliantly than usual. But then perhaps it was because of Lalaith's closeness that so many things seemed so much more beautiful than usual, and the entire world seemed in harmony. Her fingers, woven through his, were warm, and her hair was soft and cool where her head rested against his shoulder catching the light of the stars upon it as they walked, and the scent of the spring flowers woven within the crown upon her hair was heady in his nostrils.

The night was late, far into the early morning hours. The singing and music coming from the Hall of Fire somewhere above them was fading, for the merry-makers were at last growing weary and the dancing and music were slowing and fading. Lalaith herself was exhausted, Legolas could tell. And he knew well why. All night, they had danced together, and Lalaith had refused to rest even when he had cajoled her, and even now, she had been convinced reluctantly to leave the Hall and walk among the gardens only because Legolas had set aside his manly pride, and had insisted that it was he who could not dance another step.

He smiled to himself, remembering their day together before the feast. How he had rested in utter contentment upon her lap, listening as she read aloud, not so much to the words she read as much as to the softened notes of her voice, musical even in the somber tones of plain speech. And when her reading was done, they had simply sat in silence together, hand in hand upon the balcony that Elrond had once shared with his own lady, gazing out upon the fair beauty of the valley. There they had remained all day together in companionable silence, content to drink in the gaze of both the valley and each other as they sat. The balustrade, Legolas remembered, had been entwined through with a flowering vine of small white blooms, and from this he had plucked enough of the tender blossoms to weave into a crown for her fair head. Lalaith had smiled watching but saying nothing as he worked, and when at last he was done, she had accepted it with graceful gratitude. It was with reluctance that they parted at last as evening approached.

And then the time of the feast had arrived. It had been truly magnificent, with the best wines, the choicest meats, and the sweetest fruits. Yet it all paled in comparison to Lalaith's beauty, seated beside him, whose eyes were ever fixed adoringly upon his own, and whose golden head was adorned with the crown of flowers he had woven for her.

She wore a gown of soft sky blue, the color bewitchingly matching her eyes, to which Legolas found his gaze ever drawn. That she would choose him, and no other to dance with, was a fortune Legolas had never imagined he could obtain beyond the secret wishes of his dreams. Yet he it was from whom Lalaith refused to be separated. And now, they walked together, weary but happy, beneath the light of the diamond stars.

A soft sound broke from Lalaith's lips, bringing him from his thoughts, and he turned his face to see a soft yawn breaking from her mouth, which she tried in vain to hide.

"Lalaith, you are beyond fatigued." Legolas murmured.

"No, no." Lalaith insisted as she shook her head, pressing a hand to her mouth. "Not at all." Her head slumped heavily against his shoulder.

"Come Lalaith," he implored at last, drawing her toward a stone bench set beside the path. "Come and sit. Rest a moment."

Thankfully, she did not argued to this as he drew her down beside him, and gently eased her head against his shoulder, marveling at how contented her presence made him feel. Her soft, sky blue gown whispered quietly as she settled beside him, and her long unbound hair, garlanded with the cheerful crown of new spring flowers he had made for her brushed cool against his cheek.

"Oh, Legolas," she sighed, her voice heavy with sleep "I will never fully understand why you are so kind to me. But I suppose I need not understand. I am simply glad you are my friend." Her golden head shifted, and Legolas turned his head, glancing downward as she smiled a weary, sleepy smile up at him.

"I love you more than spiced apples," she whispered, before settling again against his shoulder, and fading quietly into her dreams.

Legolas' heart felt as if it had almost stopped in his chest. He stared down at her, perplexed as to why her words had caused such a wonderfully confusing sensation within him. For this was not the first time she had so openly declared such a strong emotion in his favor. Many times before, from the time she had been a child, rosy cheeked, no higher than the length of an arrow, she had confessed affection for him, using the very word_love_ as she used it now. How many times before in her life had she told him those very words in friendship and sweet childish gratitude? He could not count them all. But never until now, had the utterance of such words caused such a joyful disturbance to his mind and heart.

And as he gazed at her beneath the light of the stars, the every whispering falls serenading them softly in the distance, a realization settled quietly upon him.

His arm about her slim shoulders moved softly with her every breath, and tightened gently as he gazed down into her star speckled eyes that were focused contentedly off at nothing. The realization came as gently and as expectedly as the gradual sunrise that he knew would come in only a few short hours, it had been but a matter of time, for the seed had been within his heart all along, and only now, did it finally burst gloriously into flower.

"Lalaith," he murmured softly, but she did not stir.

Brushing her smooth brow with his lips, he circled his free arm about her, drew her warm, unresisting form closer until his brow rested softly against her own, and whispered, "I love you, too."

And as he spoke these words to the slumbering maiden, he knew in that moment that all that he was, indeed all his life and world, was changed forever.


	12. Chapter 12

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 12**

**January 9, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 12

Beneath the silver light that spilled from the high talan above, Haldir paced briskly, his hands clenched tightly behind his back, his heart a tumbled mass of jumbled confusion within his chest.

He had seen her again. After over a century, she had come again to the Golden Wood. Her cousins, Arwen as well as Elrond's sons, and others of the Elves of Imladris had made the journey as well, but from the moment he saw her riding like a queen upon her silver white mount beneath his trees, the others of her retinue were all but invisible to him.

Her initial greeting had been cordial enough when he and his detachment had come through the trees to meet them and take them into the city. But it had not been as enthusiastic a reaction as he had hoped.

What _had_ he hoped for? Haldir wondered. For her to leap off of her horse, and fling herself into his arms, claiming his mouth with a heated kiss? A tepid grin crossed his lips at this thought, only to fall swiftly away again. The lady barely knew him, in all truth, he admitted, chastising himself silently. Still, since her last departure from the Golden Wood, he had thought of her every day, dreaming of her often, and wondering if she ever thought of him.

Often had he remembered her eyes, large and bright, and her mouth, expressive and soft, and warm, he imagined, as it had been when he had spoken to her before her departure. The pain and the guilt he had seen in her had wrenched his heart, and the words he had spoken to comfort her had simply spilled from his lips. Perhaps he had spoken out of turn, he thought ruefully to himself. But even now, to think of her as akin to the very stars themselves seemed a thing not out of place in his mind. He remembered the way her sweet young face had flushed to the warm color of a rose. And he remembered also, the glint of steel in the eyes of Legolas of Mirkwood when he had come looking for her, and found Haldir there. But how could that upstart of a princeling have expected him to act otherwise? Could any man remain silent with such a fair vision as the lady Lalaith, when such pain and guilt filled her face?

Haldir narrowed his eyes as he thought of Legolas. A short pang of jealousy shot through him as he remembered the familiarity with which Lalaith and that Mirkwood Prince had treated each other. True, it was to be expected, for they had known each other as long as Lalaith had been alive. Their friendship was no secret. But was he wrong to sense that there may be something more between them, that this camaraderie they openly displayed may not be so innocent as that which existed between himself and Lothirien?

His thoughts of his dear friend caught him off guard, and he came back to his present mission, pausing in his restless pacing and lifting his eyes to the high talan above his head where the lady of his thoughts was housed, the home that would be hers and her cousin Arwen's during their stay. His thoughts had come back to himself none too soon, for as he lifted his eyes the maiden whose arrival he had been awaiting, alighted from the bottom step onto the earth of the path at her feet, having descended the silver lit stairs that wound about the Mallorn without his noticing.

A sliver of a smile touched her lips as she came toward him, moving with the soft grace that had always been hers, making her seem to float over the grass as she crossed toward him.

"Lothirien," he spouted impatiently before he strode forward, and caught her hands within his, "did you speak to her? Did you give her my message? What did she say?"

As swiftly as a cloud blocking the sun, the smile disappeared from her face as she spoke, her voice softly cracking as she spoke in a light tone. "Haldir! Whatever am I to do with you? Come now. I can answer but one question at a time."

At these words, Haldir glanced downward, studying the ground beneath their feet, a rueful smile crossing his face.

"Forgive me, my friend." He muttered, lifting his eyes to Lothirien's as they studied his with fervent intensity, her face sober, almost sad before another smile drew itself across her lips.

"I am sorry." Haldir repeated.

"Of course you are." Lothirien whispered.

"So tell me." Haldir begged. "What did she say?"

Lothirien pursed her lips softly. "The lady Lalaith wishes for me to tell you that she is grateful for your solicitous concern, and that she begs you not to worry for her comfort, for her needs have already been seen to." A silent moment passed. "That is her message." She finished more softly now before she drew her hands from his, turned and started away, no longer gliding as she had seemed to before.

"Lothirien-," Haldir muttered, starting after her. Something in her posture confused him.

"What is it, Haldir?" She asked, turning, her voice suddenly weary.

"I-, uh-," he gulped. "That is the only message she gave you for me?"

Lothirien's eyes fell to the ground at their feet. "Oh, yes," She said softly, "the Lady Galadriel has informed us, her maid servants, that there is to be a feast tonight, celebrating the arrival of the children of Elrond. As the March Warden, I would guess that you will be expected to attend. There will be dancing of course, so you will have the chance you have been seeking with Lady Lalaith."

For a long moment, Haldir stood in quiet, surveying the face of the maiden who had been his friend all his life. There was pain in her eyes, which confused him, for as long as he had known her, she had been a happy pleasant girl, if not very quiet when surrounded by those she did not know.

"And will you be there?" He whispered.

"Only as a servant." She gulped. With those words, she promptly turned away.

"Lothirien, is something wrong?" Haldir murmured, starting after her, his voice little more than a whisper.

"Oh, nothing." Lothirien shook herself, and a forced smile curved her lips upward. "Forgive me, Haldir. I am quite well."

"Are you certain?" Haldir murmured, starting after her, and catching her shoulders within his hands. How small she was, Haldir realized, as he stood over her, the top of her head tucking beneath his chin as he embraced her softly from behind. "If something is troubling you, surely you can tell me. I would do anything to make you happy." He muttered plaintively.

Slowly she turned now as she lifted her eyes to his own, filled with pleading tears. A brave smile came to her face as she blinked swiftly. "Then enjoy yourself tonight. Savor the feast. Dance with your chosen lady until you are fairly exhausted! If you are happy, I will be."

Haldir studied her eyes rimmed with red, and the soft curve of her mouth that trembled as she smiled. He furrowed his brow, unsure.

"You great lout!" Lothirien teased, stepping back and lightly slapping his arm. "Do I have your word that you will enjoy yourself, or not?"

Haldir opened his mouth, finding it momentarily dry before he managed to stammer, "Y- yes."

"Very well, Haldir." Lothirien sighed, then lifting up upon her toes, she leaned close. Her body was warm and soft against his as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, missing his mouth by only a fraction. "Now, my dearest friend," she murmured, drawing back, and lowering her eyes from his, "I will be happy."

Soft music played somewhere in the background, and the great talan where the feast was being held, hummed with the low murmur of voices. And the soft step of feet and swish of skirts as couples began to dance.

"My lady?" The voice, softened and muted by her many thoughts, echoed somewhere nearby, and melted away, forgotten, for Lalaith had hardly heard, not thinking the query was directed at her.

She did not feel hungry as she gazed at her plate, the food upon it barely touched. She was not ill or unhappy, for she loved her visits to the Golden Wood as she always had. But her thoughts were elsewhere. Dwelling, as they often did, beneath the shadowed treetops of the realm of Mirkwood.

It would be winter there, colder than it was here in Lothlórien, for this realm was sheltered ever by the power of Galadriel. How was Legolas? Was he well and safe? He had seemed happy and contented in the last letter he had sent her, yet in the realm of Mirkwood, one often was not sure.

"Lady Lalaith?" The voice she had barely heard before sounded in her ears, and with a start she looked up to see Haldir, the March Warden, standing over her chair, a congenial smile upon his face as he waited for her to notice him. "Your thoughts dwell elsewhere tonight?" He asked, his tone light, though she could sense a hint of concern beneath his words.

"Lord Haldir." She gulped, sitting straighter, and offering him a nod of apology. "I fear my mind has been elsewhere. Please, forgive me."

"There is no apology necessary, my lady." Haldir murmured with a slight bow. "But I would be eternally in your debt, if you were to grant me the honor of this dance."

"I-," Lalaith hesitated. She had no reason to deny him, but for a moment, the words she meant to speak stuck fast in her throat. She glanced beside her for help, but the places Arwen and Elladan had occupied were bare, the brother and sister having taken to the dance floor themselves. And Elrohir, two seats away from her offered her no counsel as he shrugged his eyebrows at her, and tossed a stripped chicken bone to his plate.

"The honor would be mine, my lord." She blurted brightly, realizing suddenly that Haldir could not wait indefinitely for her answer.

Glancing up again into his gladdened face, she willingly slipped her hand into his, and rose to her feet. His hands were large and warm, and slightly calloused, like Legolas' hands, she noted as she allowed him to lead her out upon the dance floor, the spark within his eyes as he gazed at her not dissimilar to that which seemed to rest ever in Legolas' eyes. And, like Legolas, she realized, he was a skillful dancer as his arm, strong and sure, clasped her about the waist, and he began to lead her in graceful sweeping turns, leading her across the dance floor like a pair of swans across the surface of a pond. He, like Legolas, embodied both strength and grace as he moved, though Haldir was taller than the Prince of Mirkwood, his shoulders somewhat broader.

Lalaith bit her lip, realizing suddenly, that every turn, every slight move Haldir made, she compared to Legolas. Drawing in a deep breath, she smiled and made an effort to keep her thoughts focused upon Haldir, for Legolas was leagues away, unaware of her constant thoughts of him, while Haldir was here before her, and more than likely aware, and possibly hurt, by her wandering thoughts.

Lifting her eyes to his, she offered him a timid smile as he gazed unwaveringly down upon her face.

"You are a beautiful dancer, my lady." He murmured softly as their eyes met, and to this, Lalaith dropped her eyes to his shoulder, feeling the warmth rising in her face, and knowing that her cheeks were growing flushed.

"Thank you, my lord." She managed to mutter. "You are a fine dancer yourself."

"Ah, but I have Lothirien, to thank for that." He grinned. "She taught me."

"Indeed?" Lalaith breathed, suddenly lifting her face again to Haldir's. "She is as lovely as she ever was. You are truly fortunate to have her friendship." Lalaith's brow furrowed as she lowered her voice and asked, "I spoke with her earlier, and she seemed happy enough. Is she indeed so?"

"She is." Haldir said, his smile twitching slightly. He nodded toward a dim corner, and Lalaith glanced toward where his eyes beckoned to see one of the serving maids, half enshrouded in shadow, though she could see now, that the maiden was Lothirien. Her eyes, large and luminescent, were fixed upon the dancing couple, and as their eyes found hers, a slim smile drew itself across her mouth.

"I am glad." Lalaith whispered softly, feeling Haldir's hand tighten minutely about her waist. "I feel greater comfort to know that she has found peace."

"She is a strong, brave lady." Haldir whispered as the music drew to a close at last, and the dancing slowed and at last, ceased. "Much like you." He finished, his words but a breath against her hair.

Drawing back from his embrace, Lalaith noted the quick intake of breath that caused Haldir's chest to rise and fall as he stood before her, and wondered at it, for the music had not been brisk, nor the motions of the dance very taxing.

Around the other couples began to file from the floor, and as they did, Haldir grasped Lalaith's elbow gently, and leaning close, murmured, "Would you grant me the favor of a few moments, lady? Alone?"

Not knowing why she should decline him, she nodded her consent, and at her nod, he guided her away, past the tables and through one of the many pairs of doors flung wide to the cool evening air, leading out upon the balcony edged by a delicate, fluted railing.

Leaning against the balcony with a sigh, Lalaith gazed out into the night. Moonlight spilled through a break in the branches above them, the ethereal light filtering down upon the balcony, and filling the forest about her with silver light. Below her, she could see lights from many of the tree borne flets flickering like stars against the shadowed ground. The railing was cool and smooth beneath her hands, and Lalaith smiled thoughtfully to herself, thinking of how fearful she would be without it.

"Something humors you, my lady?"

She turned to Haldir, her smile growing as he leaned casually back against the railing upon his elbows and surveyed her with gentle eyes.

"I was just thinking-," she smirked again, not finishing her thought, as she shook her head shyly, and glanced downward at her hands. "Oh, my lord, no. It is a childish thing, and you would think it rather foolish."

"Indeed, I would not!" Haldir chuckled, shifting his weight to one elbow so that he leaned closer to her as he spoke. "I give you my word."

"_Ai_, my lord!" Lalaith cried, pushing herself back from the railing as she shot a playful look at the March Warden. "Why must you know? Have we not come out here, for another purpose, but for you to discover how dreadfully I fear heights?"

Her mouth clapped shut suddenly as she realized the truth had inadvertently slipped, and a slow, satisfied smile spread itself across Haldir's face. "Ah." He said slowly with a nod.

With a huff, Lalaith turned away, and pressed one hand to her forehead while the other sought the cool comfort of the silver balustrade as Haldir chuckled softly behind her.

Spinning quickly, Lalaith eyed his handsome face bending close above hers, and darkly muttered, "Will you mock me now, my lord?"

Haldir surveyed her exasperated countenance and with a worried expression replacing his quickly fading smile, he muttered in a low, somber tone, "No, lady. I would not dream of it. Forgive me. I should not have laughed at your expense."

A warmth upon her hand caused Lalaith to glance quickly down at Haldir's hand as it slipped over her own where it rested against the silver fluted railing.

"I would not wish to lose your favor." Haldir murmured.

So gentle and heartfelt were his words that Lalaith could not help but turn again, and look up into his eyes. Blue they were, and deep and passionate, like Legolas' eyes.

"You have not lost it, lord." She returned, gulping and glancing away, imagining that it was Legolas she spoke to. "I could never think ill of one as noble as you. You are ever courteous and gentle, and I would be ungrateful if I did not thank you for your kindness."

Lifting her eyes, Lalaith returned his casual smile, his eyes warming her as the two gazed long at each other in silence. A thought tugged in her mind, troubling her, until she again glanced down, away from the spark that lived within his eyes, and memory again came back to her.

"Ah, my lord," she stammered quickly, her smile dropping as she glanced back up at him.

"What was it you wished to speak of, when you asked me to accompany you out here? I fear I am at fault for distracting us both."

At her reminder, Haldir also dropped his eyes.

"In truth?" Haldir sighed, grasping at the railing, and gazing out over the peaceful flickering lights of Caras Galadhon, set within the silver lighted Mallyrn. "I must confess, my lady, that there was no reason." He shook his head. "I simply had hoped to speak to you alone."

Haldir glanced down at his hands, and Lalaith followed his gaze, seeing his hands clenching the railing rather tightly, as if he were suddenly nervous. "I wished, my lady, to speak to you where the formality of rank and station might not be so relevant as it would perhaps in another setting-,"

Within her, her heart leaped suddenly, and almost painfully as she began to guess at what he might be speaking of.

"I have hoped that-," Haldir muttered, then paused as he gulped audibly, "we might become friends."

A wave of relief crashed over her trembling heart, and Lalaith almost laughed aloud. Instead, she exclaimed, "Oh, my lord, is that the reason?" Impulsively, she reached out, and clasped both of Haldir's hands within hers. Though a moment later, she caught a breath in her throat, and pulled her hands back.

"Oh, forgive me, my lord." She stuttered, quickly drawing her hands back to herself again, and glancing down at the marbled tile of the balcony beneath their feet. "I fear I can be a bit impetuous."

A smile trembled at the corners of Haldir's mouth as she said this. And as she began to lift her eyes, she felt his hands taking up her own again. Her eyes lifted to find his, a warm smile gracing his gentle features.

"If we are to be friends, my lady, you may call me Haldir." He murmured, gently squeezing her hands as he held them.

Lalaith pursed her lips in a smile, feeling the soft pressure of Haldir's hands clasping her own, and with a gentle answer squeeze, she returned, "Then, Haldir," she paused at the informal use of his name without title or surname, before he smiled gently, "you too, may call me simply, Lalaith."

"Lalaith." Haldir said, his eyes glancing thoughtfully away, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue. His eyes found hers again as his smile grew. "My friend." He whispered, his eyes smiling into her own as he lifted one of her hands to his lips, and brushed his mouth warmly across her knuckles.


	13. Chapter 13

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 13**

**January 15, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 13

"_Dearest Lalaith_," the letter began as Lalaith settled her chin in her hand, her fingers running lightly over the surface of the crisp yellow parchment that bore the bold yet graceful characters that had flowed from Legolas' pen, "_As I write this to you, I am sitting upon a high ledge near the summit of the highest peak of our mountains here in my father's realm. The sun rises as I put pen to paper, setting the world beneath my ledge, in bright relief_."

Lalaith smiled at the image his words conjured as her breakfast of fruit and fresh wine before her remained untouched. Her cousins had left several minutes before to go riding, though she had barely noted their departure as she sat alone upon the arching ledge of her balcony built upon a low branch that hung near to the ground. So low, that thick trailing vines had found their way up, entwining their flowering limbs through the fluted railing.

"_Beneath this windy mountainside the green of the forest melts away toward the south, giving me a clear view to the distant horizon. The cold autumn air above the treetops is sharp and clear, and I can see the distant black peak of Dol Guldur, swathed as ever in shadow, towering above the mould colored trees that spread about its base. The sight would be altogether eerie and sobering, but for the distant, almost invisible silver ribbon I see that is the Anduin, sparkling brightly to the southwest, and beyond that, against the horizon, I see a low glimmer of gold. It is naught but a touch of color at the point where earth meets sky. But I know that it is the bright sheen which is Lórien, and I am comforted to know that you are there, beneath the golden trees. It is almost as if I can see you again. I can picture your face as clearly as when I saw you last, your eyes and your smile when I said farewell to you that spring morning, and turned my back to Imladris. It has been nearly a century and a half since that day, in spite of my promise to myself that I would visit you more. I hope you are not angry with me, and I pray that my letters have been enough_."

Lalaith sighed at the poetic words, smiling as she pressed a hand to her heart in an effort to still its sudden leaping. "Almost enough, dear Legolas." She muttered to herself.

"_Within my hand, I hold your last letter to me, and I am glad that you are happy. You speak much of the March Warden, Haldir, and of your growing friendship with him_." Here the writing became slightly strained, the letters thickening somewhat, as if he were pressing the pen with greater strength into the paper, and Lalaith wondered if he were withholding some furtive emotion. "_I am pleased to know that through his help, your skills at sparring and archery have improved. I only wish I had the courage_-," the last word was so thickly delved into the paper that it seemed as if he had fairly hacked his quill into the parchment, "-_to come to you and teach you such things myself, as I once did_."

Again the touch of his writing changed, becoming light and hurried, as if he wished to speak out a thought before it was lost to him.

"_Soon, Lalaith, our autumn festival will be upon us once again, and my hunger to see you is greater than it has ever been. I dream often of seeing you here, as you have been before, garlanded with a crown of red autumn leaves, dancing beneath our trees, and bringing light, if for but a short time, to the shadows of this place. Would you consider coming to my father's realm for a short time? For your presence would give me even greater reason to celebrate. I hope that your answer is yes, though if circumstances prevent you from coming, I will understand. I remain your friend forever, Legolas_"

Lalaith furrowed her brow at the question, sensing a vague shadow of anguish beneath his words. Laying the letter back upon the table, Lalaith pushed her chair slightly back and glanced up again, her thoughts awhirl within her mind.

But no sooner had her eyes turned away from the parchment, than her thoughts were caught up in something else.

"Lalaith!" The voice brought her instantly to her feet, smiling in recognition. With a flurry of skirts, she darted to the edge of the veranda, and pressing her hands against the cool metal of the vine entwined railing, peered over to see Haldir standing beneath her, his head tipped upward, and his eyes glinting with a hidden smile.

"Oh, good morning, Haldir!" she cried lifting her hand in a wave.

"Good morning, Lalaith," he answered in return, his voice more subdued, though still warm.

"My cousins have only just left," she called out cheerfully. "Were you seeking Elladan or Elrohir?"

"No, you, actually," Haldir returned, glancing down at his feet, the gesture almost shy, before he looked upward into her eyes again. "I wondered if you might wish to practice your skill with the bow again."

"Oh, ah," her heart gave a stolid thump of warning in her chest before she answered in return, "of course! Will you not come up for a moment, then?"

She waved toward the stairs not far away from him, which twined up round the great tree toward her chambers, but these Haldir ignored.

She stepped back with a sudden gasp of surprise as Haldir stepped just beneath her ledge, and with motion that seemed effortless, clambered up along the thick trailing vines like a ladder until at last he reached the precarious edge of her balcony. With casual ease, he threw one leg over her railing as he plucked a bright red blossom from the vines twining through the smooth silver balustrade.

"Haldir!" She laughed and took the flower he gallantly offered her, then stood back as he flung his other leg so that he stood at last, firm footed, before her. "Is such behavior becoming of the March Warden?"

"I simply did not wish to disturb you by forcing you to walk all the way through your chambers to answer my annoying knocking." Haldir gasped, his smile twitching as she raised the gifted blossom to her face, and inhaled its sweet fragrance. And as her eyes were down turned to the red blossom, Haldir's eyes traveled appreciatively over her, taking in the light, unadorned dress that clothed her slender form. It was a soft yellow, almost white garment that bore no intricate embroidery or vast lengths of cloth, its neck scooped simply, with sleeves that would have been long to her wrists, but that she had casually rolled to her elbows.

"How thoughtful of you," she grumbled, lifting her eyes, and offering him a reproachful shake of her head.

"Ah, but what's this?" Haldir breathed in, striding past her, and surveying her untouched breakfast. "You haven't eaten? How can you keep up your strength? Archery is quite taxing, after all."

"Oh, you arrogant fool!" Lalaith pursed her lips and glared at him. "You are as bad as my uncle! I was just distracted for a moment."

Haldir's eyes flashed over the letter beside her plate, and a glazed look washed over his eyes as he touched the parchment lightly, just beneath the salutation. "`_Dearest_ Lalaith," he muttered to himself, then louder, "from Prince Legolas?" He looked up at her, the spark fading from his eyes as he spoke, now in a flattened tone.

"Yes," she answered with a sigh as she stepped nearer to him, dropped her flower casually upon Legolas' letter, lifted a juicy slice of fresh peach from her plate, and popped it into her mouth. "See? I am eating. Are you happy now?"

"He writes often?" Haldir asked again in low tones.

"Very often." Lalaith answered as she chewed and swallowed. "At least once a month, if not more."

"And you write to him?"

"Of course. It would be terribly inconsiderate if I did not."

"Oh." Haldir muttered, glancing down.

His sudden despondency thoroughly confused Lalaith. And in a sudden effort to cheer him, she stepped toward him, spatted him quickly on the arm so that he looked up in surprise, and as he did, she declared, "Look! I'm eating Haldir! I won't wither away! Are you happy now?" With that, she snatched up a bunch of grapes from her plate and bit off several, chewing rapidly, unaware that one small grape had been jarred away from the rest, falling again to her plate.

The vague look of hurt upon his face wavered and disappeared into a smile at her exaggerated chewing motions, and he shrugged noncommittally.

"I am beginning to be." He grinned. "But perhaps you need a bit more."

At this, he plucked up the fallen grape from her plate, and stepped near.

Lalaith's brows twitched at the warm, dark look that drew across Haldir's face as he drew close, but she did not question him, and simply opened her mouth in acceptance of the tiny fruit he offered her.

Haldir, she saw, smiled lightly as she did this, and a moment later, she felt the smooth, cool skin of the tiny grape against her lips and her tongue, and she closed her mouth, lifting her eyes again to Haldir's as she chewed.

His finger though, lingered at her lips even after she swallowed, his touch warm against her mouth. His fingers carried light calluses, as would be expected of a warrior, but his fingers bore a gentle touch, achingly soft as they smoothed slowly across her mouth. Lalaith drew in a low breath, surprised to find herself wishing that it was Legolas whose warm, lean fingers traced softly over her lips, rather than Haldir's.

"Haldir," she began chokingly, "I-, I should not-,"

"My lady," the creaking of a door, followed by a girlish voice entered her thoughts, and Lalaith's eyes shot through the doorway into the warm shade of the interior as Lothirien continued to speak, her voice and her light footsteps drawing nearer as she did, "Lady Arwen has gone riding with her brothers, but she said that you were still here alone, and I have come to see if there was anything you needed-,"

Lothirien's words ended in a sudden gasp, and Lalaith turned to Lothirien who had appeared in the doorway onto the veranda and whose eyes now rapidly darted back and forth between Haldir and Lalaith.

"Lothirien! It is a pleasant surprise to see you this morning!" Haldir declared, starting toward her, and reaching out as if he meant to take hold of her hands. "You are beautiful, as always."

"Oh, forgive me, Haldir, my lady." Lothirien said nodding to the pair in a voice that suddenly shook as she jerked her hands from Haldir's touch. "I have-, just remembered something.

Something important that I forgot. I must-, I must go." She spun away, and rapidly disappeared from their view.

"Lothirien!" Haldir called after her, but she was already gone.

"Hm." Haldir muttered thoughtfully gazing at the now empty doorway. "She is one of the most careful maidens I know. Not often does she forget anything." He shook his head thoughtfully one more time before turning to Lalaith once again with a smile.

"Shall we go, then?" He said, offering his arm to her.

"Of course, my stalwart March Warden." She returned, slipping her arm through his, breathing a silent, relieved sigh that all was as it was before.

Lifting a smile to his face which had regained its cheerful brightness, the two friends made their way into the interior of her flet toward the outer door and the stairway that led downward to the ground.

Gentle forest noises echoed around them as Haldir and Lalaith came to a stop in the grassy clearing where many paces across, sat a great round wooden target.

"Remember, keep your body taut, yet relaxed," Haldir offered helpfully, handing her his quiver of arrows and his bow. He moved a few paces away and sat on a mossy stone to watch her.

She tested the feel of the bow in her left hand as she fitted an arrow to the string. She drew the string back to her cheek, and after sighting down the arrow's shaft, released it. It struck the target with a sharp crack, but well out of the faded circle at the center.

Haldir rose to his feet, and came again to her side. "Remember the flight will carry it up a bit." She felt the gentle pressure of his hand at her back.

She nodded, and took another arrow. Fitting it to the string, she drew it back to her cheek.  
>The string sang as the bow sprang back into shape, and Lalaith smiled as her arrow struck true, still quivering in the center of the red circle.<p>

"Well done." The quiet tone of his voice, as well as his hand at her back confused her, and she pulled gently away, turning to him.

He was smiling again, his mouth curled shyly. The warmth in his eyes had softened.

"Haldir, what is wrong? Does something trouble you?" she asked.

"Nothing at all," he assured her, his eyes studying hers.

"Then-," her mouth twisted into a smirk. "What is it?"

"I only wanted to say, you look well, Lalaith."

A smile turned the corners of her mouth up. "I look _well_?" She inquired.

"Yes, and happy. You are at peace with yourself. It was not so, when Alcarion and his wife died."

"My life is happy," she agreed. "My friends are numerous, and good, yet-,"

Haldir's hand against her back, his fingertips soothingly trawling one way and then the other across her shoulders was terribly distracting.

"Every time I see Lothirien, it is as if I see renewed pain in her eyes as if I am doing something once again to hurt her," Lalaith muttered, fighting to keep hold on her thoughts. "I do not know what it is, and it is horribly frustrating to not know, for if I did, I would do all I could to stop her pain in an instant."

"Lalaith, you have a good heart. As good a heart as Lothirien's, and I know no better maiden than her." Haldir breathed softly, edging closer.

A thud of warning shivered painfully through her heart, and she pulled away, keeping her eyes focused away from Haldir.

"I am going to Mirkwood for a time, Haldir," she managed to choke. The utterance of the words brought a wave of sadness mixed with soothing peace to her mind, though why, she could not tell.

Behind her, a heavy silence lingered for a long painful moment.

"How long?" The words at her back seemed to wrench from deep within Haldir, and twisted her heart as they came forth.

"Not long." She sighed softly, turning back to him, and smiling. "Legolas invited me to come to their autumn festival. I will return here when it is over."

"Let me go with you."

Lalaith started in surprise at the ragged emotion she heard in his words.

"No-," she choked, "It would be best if you stayed here." With the utterance of her words came another honey tipped shard lancing through her heart. Sadness, she felt, for she knew that somehow she was hurting him, yet relief as well, for she knew in her heart, that it was what she needed to do.

"I will take Elladan or Elrohir, and perhaps both, if I must, for safety," she stammered when the silence behind her grew too great. "Do not worry, my friend. All will come about as it should. And I will see you again when I return."

"Then may that time be soon." Haldir's voice said near her ear, and she turned as she felt his warm hand slip into hers, to see him standing above her, gazing down with warm, sad eyes. "I will miss you."

"And I-," Lalaith stopped awkwardly upon her words. She could not make herself tell him she would miss him, for it would not be the truth. She would notice the loss of his company, and his friendship to be sure, but for her to speak the entirety of the truth she felt, would be to say that she anticipated seeing Legolas far greater than she felt pain at separation from Haldir.

"I will-," she struggled for words, wincing at the pained look that grew across his face at her hesitation. "I will look forward to seeing you again, Haldir."

She managed a small smile, and felt a shred of relief to see him return it. Though, she noted, it was weak, and bereft of hope.


	14. Chapter 14

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 14**

**January 16, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 14

"Lalaith," Elrohir muttered, shooting a nervous glance upward at a thick, sticky looking cord of cobweb that had been draped above their heads, hanging lazily between two trees like a loose strand of rope, "remind me again why we are doing this?"

Lalaith blew a long sigh out through her lips, and shook her head to herself as she answered in return, "Legolas invited us. For their autumn Festival. It will not be so bad once we are nearer to King Thranduil's caves."

Elrohir groaned softly to himself and muttered, "This path is more like a cave than King Thranduil's palace. At least that place has some light in it. Though I still prefer to sleep on a talan. Their treetops are brighter. Not so enclosed."

Lalaith sighed again in wordless agreement as the two trotted along upon their mounts, Elrohir in the lead as they made their narrow way along the dim path through the trees. Like a dim, cheerless Dwarf cave would be, Lalaith thought to herself, grateful that she had brought along her quiver that lay lightly against her back, and her bow, smooth and cool beneath the fingers of her left hand where it rested upon the skirts of her thick grey riding cloak. Like a great endless cave it was, dipping and turning through the trees, gloomy and reek with dark trees dripping with mats of black moss, and here and there, an occasional thick rope of cobweb flung over their trail between trees. It was far more narrow and confining than the path they had left behind, the dim forest road that stretched away into the murky distance, both before them and behind them. The winding path they traversed had turned off from that long unending road far behind them, and the path was narrow and hard to read; one they would have missed had they not known where they were going. It had been once green and bright, or so Elrond had taught her, before the darkness and the evil came to it.

Yet this was Legolas' home, and that of his kin. Her heart twinged as the memory of his face wavered before her own, his eyes teasing her with their depth; innocent, and wise they were, within an achingly fair face, a tantalizing phantom flitting through her mind before the image of him wavered and faded. It had been nigh unto a century and a half since she had seen him last, and she wondered sadly, why that was so. He had not lost his affection for her, she assured herself, or else he would never have bothered writing to her. And he would surely not have so unexpectedly invited her here. She had been to Thranduil's realm before, but not as often as Legolas came to Imladris, so the invitation had come as an unexpected, though pleasant surprise, and as a relief as well. Legolas still cared for her. Though he had told her often enough in his many letters over the long decades he had stayed away from Imladris, letters alone could not feel the void. She longed again to see him, to feel the warmth of his smile, as tangible as the warmth of sun upon her skin. She longed for the touch of his hand within hers. She wanted Legolas beside her.

Lalaith smiled softly to herself, and his name sang through her like a hymn as she worked over the syllables silently with her lips, forgetting for a moment the crushed, suffocating feeling that pressed down on her.

"Lalaith, look!"

Lalaith was uncomfortably jolted back to the present at the sudden alarm within Elrohir's voice as he called out to her.

"What is it?" She asked as he shot a glance filled with concern over his shoulder, then glanced again at the ground before him.

Nudging her own mount closer, Lalaith strained to see what was upon the ground, half blocked by Elrohir's horse which took up most of the narrow trail.

"A foot print." Elrohir breathed softly.

Lalaith paused. A footprint would not be anything to grow worried over, for the Wood Elves traveled often in this part of the forest. However this booted print, pressed into the center of a dried patch upon the trail, and appearing to be untouched, though it was several days old, bore a thicker sole than an Elf's boot, and was shorter than an Elf's foot, almost like a child's print. This boot, however, was wider than a child's could have ever been, and crushed far deeper into the soil than a small, light child's foot could press, even into soft ground. Further ahead was another one, and another, several crossing one over the other.

"Dwarves." Elrohir muttered, an almost sickened tone carried in his voice. "Several of them. It is hard to say. Between seven and fourteen, I would guess. They don't usually go about in groups of any other number."

Lalaith caught a frightened gasp in her throat. "Here? In Thranduil's kingdom?" She choked, desperately trying to keep the fear out of her voice as she glanced furtively about her in the trees as if she suddenly expected to see one of the squat, hairy faced creatures she had learned about, leering out at her from the shadows of the trees. "What in Arda would they be doing here?"

"Filthy spies, most likely." Elrohir grumbled. "But look here. They've already been found. See? An Elf's print. Here and here. And over there. They're surrounded, and traveling in mostly a straight line, though it deviates slightly, as if they can't see at all where they're going. They're probably tied together and blindfolded. So they've been taken captive. No need to worry."

He flashed Lalaith a casual half grin, and she drew in a softened breath, smiling in relief. Elrohir was a far better tracker than she could hope to be, and she was glad she could trust him in this.

"Well, let us go on, then." He said, and nudged his own copper coated mount ahead as Lalaith followed behind on her cream colored horse. The tracks, both of Dwarves and Elves continued along ahead upon the same path, and Lalaith smiled with relief. She'd never seen one of the filthy creatures her people called Dwarves before, and she did not want to now, not from the terrible stories Elladan and Elrohir used to tell her as a child.

But her smile faltered for a moment as a print right in the center of the trail passed beneath the hooves of Elrohir's mount, and was scuffed into oblivion with the horse's back hooves before she could get a better look at it. Unmarred it had been, before being crushed away, as if that particular creature, Dwarf, if it was, had come along behind the main body of Elves and Dwarves, its print left untouched until the horse's hooves had crushed it.

"Elrohir?" She called out to him, hearing again, worry within her voice.

"Yes?" He asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Is it usual for Dwarves to go about, ah, _barefoot_?"

"By Arda, no." He snorted. "They wear thick soled leather boots wherever they go. Clomping about noisily like a herd of angry, undersized bulls. Elladan and I both think it helps to compensate for their lack of-," he cleared his throat hastily, "height."

"But-," she began softly.

"The only free people who can stand to go about barefoot, at least in woods such as this, would be the tough footed little _Pheriannath_ that you've read about, the ones Mithrandir is so fond of." Elrohir said. "Peaceful for the most part, but there have been a few hardy enough to go with him on some of his adventures."

"And do they have dealings, often, with Dwarves?" She gulped.

Again Elrohir snorted. "I doubt it." He glanced at her again over his shoulder, and shook his head. "No _Pheriain_ would ever stoop that low."

Elrohir smirked and chuckled softly at his unintended pun. "Of course, they're actually shorter than Dwarves, so-," he left off chuckling again, and Lalaith sighed with tentative relief. Perhaps, she reasoned, she had not seen what she thought she had seen, then. After all, Elrohir surely would not have missed it. She relaxed at this knowledge, and as the trees parted and the wide wooden bridge that led to the king's doors came into view, arching over the dark river that flowed with a whispering clatter beneath it, she smiled remembering again Legolas, and let the thought slip from her mind.


	15. Chapter 15

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 15**

**January 20, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 15

"Welcome, Lord Elrohir, and Lady Lalaith, the children of my friend, Elrond of Imladris," Thranduil said, from where he sat upon his throne, high above the floor of the brightly lit stone cavern which was his throne room. It was a throne of polished wood, carved intricately along the curve of the grain to imitate the appearance of many interlaced vines woven gracefully together, giving the strong carven wood a deceiving impression of frailty. The throne sat upon a stone dais, reached by many stone steps, and the ruler of Mirkwood sat upon it. Thranduil gazed down on the two Elves of Imladris through eyes that seemed at first glance to be stern and burdened with many toils, yet after a few moments, began to show through with a hidden smile which grew only greater as his eyes rested upon Lalaith.

"I trust your journey here was safe?" he asked again, speaking chiefly to Lalaith.

"Yes, sire." Elrohir answered, where he stood a half step in front of his cousin. "Other than a few cobwebs, and the Dwarf footprints we saw upon the dried ground, our journey through the forest was without incident."

Thranduil smiled broadly now, his grin much like his own son's, and leaned slightly forward so that the warm torchlight caught upon the crown of red berries and autumn leaves that rested upon his long golden hair that hung long over his shoulders and down his chest. "So you already know of our extra guests, do you?" He asked with a wave of his oaken staff toward the far oaken doors at the end of his hall that stood open to a corridor. "Legolas is down with them now, trying to ascertain why they are here. Though I doubt he will learn anything more than what they told me. Their being here can bode no good, though they will say nothing beyond that they accosted my people at their merry making three times only because they were hungry. That I can see. But why they are here at all, they will not say. Secretive little folk they are."

"Are there many?" she asked, feeling an odd sense of morbid curiosity. She'd never seen a Dwarf before, and to see one now, when it would be safe behind bars, was a thought that intrigued her.

"Strangely enough, we found only thirteen," Thranduil shook his head with a short sigh, and added, "The fourteenth, we can only guess, has starved, for those we found were already haggard and thin when they were brought in, or he has been eaten by the spiders."

These words he spoke, only with a small measure of regret. And Elrohir returned the news with a shrug, and the look of one who was commiserating with another who had lost a favorite cloak, or was missing a glove. But Lalaith felt strangely sad, and surprised that she would, for she had never met a Dwarf before, let alone felt pity for one.

"Ah, Lalaith! And Lord Elrohir. I was told you had arrived."

Her thoughts were interrupted by a pleasant, feminine voice, and Lalaith had barely turned before Queen Aseaiel had drawn near, having approached silently from behind them, as she caught one of Lalaith's hands up in a delighted greeting.

"It is good to have you here, my dear Lalaith." Aseaiel sighed, drawing back, though she still held the young maiden's hand within her own. "You look wonderful. One would barely guess that you had been traveling."

Lalaith glanced down at the gown she wore, of a soft rust colored red that she hoped did not look rumpled from having been worn beneath her riding cloak.

"This will go perfectly with your dress." Aseaiel smiled, lifting her free hand to reveal a braided crown of autumn colored flowers. "Legolas made it for you."

"In anticipation of your hoped for arrival." Thranduil added with a grin as he arose and slowly descended the high steps from his throne.

"Thank you, my lady." Lalaith said in a soft breath, bowing her head as Aseaiel lifted the crown of flowers, and set it upon her head. Lalaith lifted her eyes as the weight of the circlet of flowers settled upon her unbound golden hair. Lifting her eyes, she offered a smile to Aseaiel, then turned and smiled again at Elrohir who offered her a half grin, though now, his eyes seemed troubled.

"He will be glad to see you are here." Thranduil continued as he reached the floor, and smiled down into Aseaiel's eyes as his arm slipped around his wife's waist. "Especially with the feast tonight, for which your arrival has been most timely. It means to be the pinnacle of our autumn celebrations."

"Here are servants to show you to rooms that have been prepared for you." Aseaiel added, gesturing to the great oaken doors at the far end of the hall that had been thrown wide where two maidservants waited. "I know how you prefer the openness of the trees, so I have seen to it that your quarters will be in the houses that we have built amongst the limbs of our beeches."

"Thank you, sire, my lady." Elrohir said softly, and with a low bow to the King and Queen.

Lalaith followed his example, dropping into a low curtsy before the two turned away to follow the lead of the servants who turned away, moving down the stone corridor, many steps ahead of the two Elves from Imladris.

Behind her, Lalaith heard soft whispering, and though she did not turn, she sensed the eyes of Thranduil and his queen fixed upon her back.

Elrohir beside her, uttered a low sigh, and once they were within the corridor beyond the great doors, he finally spoke, keeping his voice low so that the maids who walked a discreet distance ahead of them could not hear. "Lalaith, when are you going to decide?"

Lalaith cast an annoyed glance at her tall, dark haired cousin, and muttered, "_What_?"

"When are you going to decide?" he repeated, turning his eyes upon her. "Which one are you to choose? Or are you going to play them off of each other until the ending of the world?"

Thoroughly confused by his words, Lalaith hissed, "What on Arda are you talking about?"

"Great Valar," Elrohir hissed, exasperatedly. "Do you truly not know what you are doing?"

"Not know what, Elrohir?" she demanded, her expression swiftly growing into a frustrated scowl.

Elrohir turned his eyes to the carved stone of the ceiling as he walked, muttering softly beneath his breath before he once again glanced at Lalaith, shaking his head ruefully. "By Arda, I don't know why I should not simply tell you straight out. But Father said not to. He said it would be better for you if you discovered it on your own. But by the Valar, you are such a little innocent, it makes me absolutely sick!"

At this, Lalaith ground to a hard stop, and snatched Elrohir by his arm. "What?" She barked, not caring whether the maids heard it or not. But they did not turn, having disappeared up a wide set of steps, not realizing that their charges were no longer behind them.

"What am I doing that makes you so, as you say, _sick_, cousin?" she demanded through gritted teeth, her eyes burning fiercely.

At this, Elrohir visibly calmed, his eyes taking on a penitent look. "Lalaith, forgive me. You of yourself have done no wrong. Not intentionally, at the least. It is only that-," Elrohir shook his head and glanced downward, staring hard at the ground, his mind visibly churning as he remained silent for long moments. At last, apparently having decided on his words, he tentatively asked, "I suppose I can say it this way; are you aware Lalaith, of what the Marchwarden's intentions are?"

"Haldir's intentions?" Lalaith asked. She swallowed, feeling a sudden dryness in her throat. "His-," she gulped again, "his intentions for what?"

Elrohir stiffened at these words, and though he struggled to hide it, Lalaith could see impatience behind his eyes. "Are you truly this ignorant?" he muttered. But as Lalaith opened her mouth to snap at him, he shot her another apologetic look and quickly clarified, "His intentions for you."

Lalaith's mouth froze open, her retort unspoken.

"For me?" She asked softly. "He said we were naught but friends."

"That is what he says. But it is not what he means, Lalaith." Elrohir smiled now at her, a smile that seemed almost sad. "Haldir is honorable, that I do not doubt. But he means, as he has meant from our arrival to the Golden Wood, to use friendship to gain, eventually, your love."

Lalaith said nothing to this. She could say nothing. At his words, her mind had frozen, and her body along with it. Vaguely she felt Elrohir's hand upon her shoulder, squeezing compassionately.

Elrohir murmured gently, "He is in love with you Lalaith. I do not doubt that one day, soon, he will ask your consent to marry him."

The heavy shock that had weighted Lalaith's mind before, and that had petrified her limbs, grew only heavier now at these words.

"Lalaith," Elrohir continued plaintively, reaching for, and taking her limp hand within his, "Haldir is a good man, he would be worthy of you if you loved him in return, but I do not think you do. Your heart has already been-,"

Again Elrohir stopped, and glanced hard at the ground, staring at the stone floor of the corridor as if he wished to bore a hole in it with his eyes before he glanced up again, gently, into Lalaith's troubled face. "Follow your heart, my little cousin." He said with a gentle squeeze of her hand. "Stay true to its direction, and it will lead you right."

Lalaith blinked her eyes weakly. Strange that Elrohir would nearly repeat Galadriel's instruction from so many decades before, when they left Lothlórien after the battle with the orcs.

"I don't love Haldir," she heard her voice say as if from far away. "I love-," She sighed, and found at last the strength to look up into Elrohir's face.

"Oh, Elrohir," she muttered, hearing her voice choking as she spoke. "I must go find Legolas. Will you forgive me for running off so suddenly?"

"There is nothing to forgive, Lalaith." Elrohir answered, offering her that casual half grin that had always so aggravated her. "But what if you become lost? It has not been often that you have wandered through King Thranduil's palace all alone."

"No doubt I will find someone who will direct me if I cannot find my way," she murmured with an assuring smile.

"Very well." Elrohir grinned, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then turned and set off after the two maids who had long since disappeared.

Lalaith watched him go, smiling after his back, before she turned, and began to hurry in the opposite direction, breaking into a run after a moment, as the cool air of the corridor whipped through her hair, and the red torches on the walls passed her in rapid striations of light and shadow.


	16. Chapter 16

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 16**

**January 22, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 16

Lalaith sighed, and paused at the crossing of two corridors that conjoined, glancing one way and then the other. She had to admit it to herself, for she could deny it no longer. She was lost. And since she had left Elrohir, she had seen no sign of any other Elf, not even a child from whom to ask help or directions. Her frustration had finding no help was only increased by the news that Elrohir had left her with, that Haldir, whom she had always thought of as no more than a friend, wanted to be closer to her than she wished. She had always thought of him as handsome to be sure, but her heart was empty of tender feelings for him, and she had always believed that he had no deep feelings for her either. Especially with the way he always spoke of Lothirien. He had always called the other maiden his friend, but there had always seemed to be more-; a ragged sigh broke through Lalaith's lips at the intrusion of a new thought. That is always how she spoke of Legolas, she realized. As her friend.

"_What an idiot Haldir is, to not notice Lothirien. Following me around everywhere, instead of being with her_!" Lalaith mumbled to herself as she shuddered, the last thought falling away into the deep, forgotten wells of her memory. "_The wretched fool_!"

Wringing her hands in agitation, she turned down the right hand corridor, for lack of a better choice to make. Surely Thranduil's halls could not be entirely empty. At some point she would come across someone. It was inevitable. But still, it was confoundingly frustrating that she had met no one yet.

The hall, lit brightly by red torchlight did not go far, before it split again, into two sets of steps, one going up into yellow flickering torchlight above, the other going down, lit also with torches. Neither staircase could she see the top of, for both bent around, blocking her sight of what each path led to. But perhaps-,

Lalaith bit her lower lip, remembering what Thranduil had said about the Dwarves in his prison. And that Legolas had been down there.

Lalaith had no idea where dungeons would be in Thranduil's palace, but she supposed they would be down, deeper in the darker and colder parts of the caves.

And so steeling herself, Lalaith tentatively began down the first of the steps. She had gone down only three stairs before she heard a jingling sound coming from below her. A sound that reminded her much of the clinking of keys together.

_Ah, someone else at last!_ She thought to herself with a smile. And aloud she called out, "Hello? Hello, is anyone down here?"

The keys, for that is what the sound seemed to originate from, continued clinking and clattering as Lalaith continued. Her brow furrowed as she made her way around the bend in the stairs and descended softly into a long hallway at the bottom of the steps, it was cool and dark, though she could smell the distant hint of water, and nearer at hand, a scent that was the distinct smell of fruity wine, causing Lalaith's mouth to water slightly.

"Hello?" She asked again. She had heard a noise. Of that she was certain. As she stepped farther into the hall, a small alcove came into view, a wine cellar, she realized by the barrels set and stacked against the walls. Within this room, was a wooden table with benches beside it. And upon one of these benches, seated side by side, were two Elves.

Lalaith recognized them both, for they were both persons of some great importance in King Thranduil's palace. One was the chief of the guards, and the other was the king's butler, Galion, if she remembered his name correctly.

But the hope that was growing upon Lalaith's face faded into a grimace of disappointment. Neither man was in any sort of position to help her. For both of them were drunk as stones, half sprawled across the table top, two great flagons resting beside their limp hands as both snored and snorted softly in their drunken vertigo, twisted smiles upon their faces as their eyes stared unseeingly off at nothing.

Beside the chief guard's other hand, rested a silver ring strung with many keys. So that had made the noise, Lalaith decided. Perhaps in his drunken slumber he'd jostled them.

A soft, derisive sigh escaped her lips as she looked over the two drunken Elves. _Pathetic fools_. She thought to herself as with a shake of her head she approached the table, and reached out, lifting one of the great flagons, half filled from beside the hand of the king's butler, lifted it to her face, and tentatively sniffed at the contents. Its color was rich and red, catching in the light of the torches about her like liquid ruby. And its scent was heady and sweet, this particular wine no doubt from the vineyards of Dorwinion, if she guessed properly.

"King Thranduil's best wine, even." Lalaith muttered disapprovingly as she set the flagon back down again. "I think I shall tell Legolas you have been snitching his father's wine." She threatened, glaring between the two unconscious Elves. "What do you think of that? It will serve you right for behaving like a couple of dirty, rude _Dwarves_."

The comatose Elves answered her not at all, though the king's butler, nearest to the edge of the table, gurgled softly and grinned in his sleep as a trickle of drool dabbled from his mouth to the wooden surface of the table.

Lalaith cringed at the distasteful sight of one she was used to seeing as the model of decorous elven behavior. "Perhaps you should spend some time in the Golden Wood with Haldir." She grunted. "He is as great a rogue as you two, and the three of you would get on quite well, I think." Snorting angrily, Lalaith plopped herself down upon the rough wooden bench beside the chief guard, completely uncaring that the two Elves were oblivious to her, and picked up the keys he had left so carelessly beside his hand, playing absently with them for a moment before she stopped, holding her breath softly as she listened for a half unheard sound. Was that-, _breathing_? Coming from under the table? But no one else was here. She shrugged. It was no matter.

Setting the ring of keys down again, she glanced hesitantly at the flagon set near the chief guard's hand. It would be no harm, she assured herself, to taste it. After all, she was a bit thirsty. And it would not harm anyone to ensure that this was indeed the best wine. Lifting the great flagon in both her hands, she took a tentative taste of the sweet, heady liquid. And then another.

Before Lalaith knew it, she was gulping thirstily. Since this morning, she and Elrohir had taken only a little water, and until this moment, Lalaith had not realized how truly parched she was.

"Ah yes, this is indeed the best wine." She muttered, pausing in her hurried gulping to catch her breath. "Not meant for such great flagons, I'm afraid."

She shook her head to herself, wondering why her voice seemed to echo so noisily off the walls about her. The stone of Thranduil's caves had not seemed to have such resonant qualities before.

"Awful pest he is." Lalaith mumbled again, nudging the unresponsive chief of the guards. "Follows me everywhere-," she paused, lifted the nearly empty flagon and took another deep gulp, the wine slipping sweetly down her throat as it went, "not that I _hate_ him, mind you. I just do not _love_ him, you see. And he seems to be completely blind to poor Lothirien. And she is so lovely. Why doesn't he notice her?"

Lalaith shook her head to herself, then lifted the flagon again to her lips, and drank until at last, the last precious drops of the lovely ruby liquid slipped from the edge of the flagon onto her tongue. She sighed in regret. But it was just as well. Somehow, the great pitcher had grown heavier as she held it. She set it down upon the wooden table with a rattling thump, just as a great belch, loud and entirely unexpected, burst past her lips.

"Oh, dear me." Lalaith muttered, smacking her lips together as she rose shakily to her feet.

Blinking slowly, Lalaith turned her thoughts upon other concerns as she glanced downward. The floor was made of stone. So how was it that it seemed to rise and fall, as a leaf upon the tide of a river? But it was not a frightening thing, really. As long as she did not fall down, it was quite entertaining. Much like being on the deck of a great ship, she guessed. She smiled at the table top, and picked up the keys she had left there as she stepped awkwardly upon the wooden bench, then again up to the top of the table, swinging the clinking keys about in her hand as she did.

She had to pause a moment to gain her balance as she stood here, towering over the two unconscious Elves that lay sprawled below her. The table bucked and swayed beneath her, and she grinned. It was much like riding a horse, she thought, only standing up. What amazing balance she had, she thought to herself with a congratulatory note. Such great balance, that she could easily skip about up here, without falling over.

And with this thought, she began to clip lightly from one end of the table to the other, humming softly to herself before with a soft sigh, she began to sing, swinging the keys upon her finger in time to her music, making her words as she went,

"_Oh, what do I do  
>with an unwanted suitor,<br>when he that I'm loving  
>is only my tutor.<br>And thinks that I'm wild,  
>and only a child.<br>While he is the son of a king!  
>Oh tra la la lally, I come from the valley,<br>and I should return there, I think_."

"Lalaith?"

A loud bump from beneath the table resounded in her echoing ears, and Lalaith stopped, frozen, but not so much from the unexplained thump from whatever it was beneath the table, as much as it was from Legolas' voice suddenly near.

"I have been searching everywhere for you, Lalaith!" Called Legolas' voice bright and glad. Lalaith gulped hard. "My father told me you arrived this morning. I thought you were in the Golden Wood." Legolas' voice grew louder and closer until he appeared in the doorway, a smile, achingly hopeful upon his face. He was adorned in fine robes in anticipation for the coming feast. But as his eyes came to rest upon her where she stood upon the table top, the drunken Elves snoring at her feet, the corners of him mouth fell away into a gape of astonishment.

"Oi, Legolas!" Lalaith choked, seeing no escape for herself. "You did not hear me singing, did you?"

"Vaguely. I heard your voice. Not your words," Legolas said dismissively, his brows furrowing with questions before he demanded, "What are you doing on the table?"

She grinned and unable to think of any other retort spouted, "Oh tra la la lily, Lalaith's being silly!"

"You're drunk!" Legolas exclaimed, his eyes darting between the two other Elves whose vacant eyes stared off at nothing as they snorted and snored in their drunken stupor.

"Most assuredly, I am!" Lalaith cried in agreement. What else could she be, after all? She'd drunk a half flagon of Thranduil's best wine!

Legolas shook his head disapprovingly as he drew near, reaching his hands up, and clasping her around the waist as he lifted her carefully down from the table.

She smiled gratefully, and leaned heavily against him, the only solid, stalwart thing, in a room that was fast beginning to spin about her.

"There's a little imp under the table, Legolas." She announced, gesturing toward the wooden table where the king's butler and the chief of the guards were sprawled across. "He has been breathing rather noisily the entire time I have been down here. And when you called my name, he jumped and bumped his head on the underside of the wood."

Legolas' brow furrowed as he glanced between her and the wooden table, disbelief showing clearly upon his face. Still he left her swaying on her feet, and for a moment she was alone in the ever spinning vortex that swirled around her, with her at its center. Vaguely she saw him lean down and peer under the table, before he straightened again, and just in time before Lalaith's legs buckled. His arm, warm and sure, caught her about the waist as she fell, and held her up straight again.

"Yes, a rather invisible imp, I should say." He muttered.

"I think he's come to free all those nasty Dwarves you father locked away." Lalaith added.

"Yes, well, I'm sure he'll need these, to let them out." Legolas agreed, and with that, he pulled the ring of keys from her hand, and tossed them again upon the table beside the limp hand of the chief guard with a rattling thump.

"Come, then." Legolas' voice ordered from somewhere in the echoing distance as, with a soft huff of air, his arms gathered her completely off her feet, and she felt herself tucked protectively against his chest. "I'll take you up to my mother. She'll find a bed for you to sleep this off."

"In the trees," Lalaith exclaimed.

"I know. In the trees. More like Lórien." Legolas released a reluctant sigh. "Where your dear Haldir dwells."

"I don't love Haldir, Legolas." Lalaith protested, regretting in her fogging mind that she was not sober enough to explain herself properly. "Why do you think I asked Elrohir to escort me here?" She knew her words were slurred, and she hoped he could understand. "I wanted to come be with you, for a short time at least, before I go back to the Golden Wood and have to endure Haldir's stifling attention again."

"Why, is there someone here you have fallen in love with?" Legolas teased through the echoing fog.

"No one that I could ever deserve." Lalaith sighed sadly, hoping again that her voice sounded lucid enough to be discernable. "I am not really anyone, Legolas. You know that, for you are the one who found me and my wounded nurse when I was a baby. All she could tell you was my name, and that I belonged with my uncle Elrond, but she could tell you nothing more before she died. But Elrond is no more my uncle than he is my father. I'm just a foundling."

"That doesn't matter to me, Lalaith." Legolas' echo assured her warmly. "Surely you know that, don't you?"

Lalaith tried to respond. She lifted her head, but the effort was too much, and she fell back against his shoulder, falling into a colorful delirium of odd, though cheerful dreams.

"My mother will know how to help you, dear, beloved Lalaith." Legolas said sadly, shifting Lalaith's weight in his arms, which in truth was hardly a burden at all as he stepped out of the room, and started slowly back up the torch lit stairway. This was not the first time the chief of the guards and his father's butler had drunken themselves into a stupor. They would awaken no worse for their imbibing, and he gave them no more thought.

He gazed ruefully down into her sleeping face that gazed blankly up at him as he mounted the steps, and he smiled as he remembered what she had said. About not loving Haldir. Hope twined tightly, nearly painfully, about his heart as her words echoed again through his mind. Did he have reason then, to think that perhaps all that his heart had truly ever longer after, could yet be his?

She had come to see him as he had hoped, in spite of his fears that his requesting of the maiden to come to him, might have seemed ill-mannered and ungentlemanly, or perhaps too forward, especially after all the time they had been apart. But he had dared not go to Lothlórien himself. Perhaps it was his manly ego, but he had no wish to face his rival Haldir, upon the Marchwarden's own ground. A foolish thing, perhaps, he admitted to himself.

Yet still, she had submitted to his request, and had come, defying all his worst fears. She was here. In his arms, of all places, though she was unaware of it, as she was unaware of everything.

She did not know he loved her. Perhaps she did not even care. But now, as he walked with her through the torch lit halls of his father's palace, gazing down into her fair face, filled with innocent trust as it always was, he knew his heart was lost to her. He had lost it long ago, though he had never been able to admit it until that cool spring night, when he had come to Imladris, when they sat together, and she had fallen asleep against him beneath the sweet fragrance of new blossoms.

"I love you, Lalaith." He found himself whispering to her as he gazed at her sleeping face. "I am yours, forever."

But Lalaith responded not at all except to nuzzle his shoulder, and sigh.


	17. Chapter 17

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 17**

**January 27, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 17

Legolas stood alone in the small, dark clearing, two stone monuments, his only near companions.

He stood at the feet of the stone woman who sat with outstretched hands as if beckoning a small child to her lap. Her stone visage bore a gentle, benevolent expression, but hardly did justice to the mortal woman whose remains lay beneath the stone that marked her memory.

He wished he could have known her name, who she was, where she was from, if any of her descendants yet lived in the lands of Men. She must have been a mother herself, a grandmother, for only a mother's love could have spurred such a sacrifice as she was willing to give for the baby she had died saving. The baby who had been Lalaith. The debt he owed her for such a selfless act could never be repaid, for he had Lalaith because of her.

His brow furrowed as he remembered that night, now more than a millennium past. When she, mortally wounded, had pushed the warm little bundle of life into his hands with the choking, fragmented instructions she had been able to give him, before she had breathed her last.

With a sigh, Legolas glanced down at the twisted, greenish black vines within his hands, the black oily vines that had been twining round the stone monument like black wicked snakes when he had arrived minutes before, and that he had torn away, almost vindictively, for their insolence. To care for her tomb the way he did, was the least he could do, to thank the mortal woman for what she had done. For the baby whose life she had saved, who had grown into the maiden he now loved, more than his own life. Lalaith, the one toward whom his thoughts were always turned, and the one he wanted as his for the rest of eternity.

Almost as if thoughts of her had conjured her near, a soft voice, Lalaith's he knew, came floating down the path he had come upon, singing softly to itself accompanied by the soft swishing of her skirts. He glanced sharply up, tossing the torn vines from his hands into the thick undergrowth as he did, hastily dusting his hands just as she came into view around a bend in the path.

Her eyes were down, studying the path at her feet, and she had yet to see him. Her hair was unadorned, spilling unbound about her shoulders. Her dress was of white linen, bound with a sky blue ribbon beneath young breasts. Within one hand, she carried a small handful of flowers, and she moved toward him with a litheness and grace that made his heart beat faster.

He called her name, "Lalaith."

Immediately, her soft singing stopped, and she looked up. Her smile of pleasant surprise seemed to fill the shadowed glade with sunlight as she came toward him, beautiful and slender, and stopped, paces from him. Her neck was bare, and he could see the beating of her heart in her pale throat.

"I did not know that I would find you here, Legolas." She said softly at last, her voice breaking through the spell that she had cast upon him with her coming.

Legolas blinked and gulped, "I come here, sometimes. Like you, I have much to be grateful to her for."

A warm flush darkened Lalaith's cheeks at this, and Legolas wondered if she guessed the meaning behind his words. But she said nothing. Instead, she glanced at the stone near her hand, engraved with the image of a horse, and upon the stone, she laid half her handful of flowers before she ran her fingers reverently over the carved image before she looked up again at Legolas. "I had to come here, at least once, before Elrohir and I return again to the Golden Wood."

"You are to go back?" he asked plaintively.

Her eyes lowered to the ground at their feet and her smile faded, giving him her answer. "Tomorrow," she returned in a voice that was near a whisper.

At this, Legolas released a low breath, feeling suddenly depleted.

Lalaith sighed as well as she placed her remaining flowers upon the stone woman's lap, then gazed sadly up into her sightless eyes.

"I wish I knew your name," she murmured in a voice that was suddenly so bereft of merriment, that Legolas could not help but step behind her, and place his hands comfortingly upon her shoulders. "I wish," Lalaith sighed, "I knew who I was."

"Lalaith," Legolas whispered gently, a tone of gentle chastisement in his voice as his hand slid slowly down her arm, seeking her hand and gathering it within his own.

"No, Legolas, you must face the truth as well as I," she protested, drawing from beneath his hands and turning to him to see his face scant inches from her own. "Long your father sought, as my uncle Elrond did, for some fragment of news as to who I could be, but none was ever found. Nor was there any clue as to whom my nurse could have been, though you sought her kin through all the lands of Men." She shook her head and glanced away. "Were I anyone of note, anyone of equal rank to you, you would have found my origins, or hers. Every time I see her face, I am reminded of that."

She lifted her eyes, to his own, and saw the pain and worry there, and she smiling softly, her eyes penitent. "But I have had a wonderful time here, Legolas."

"And I have enjoyed every moment that you have been here," he returned, reaching for, and taking her small hand within his.

Lalaith studied their clasped hands a moment, before she muttered, "Even when you found me in such a state as I was, in your wine cellars?"

"Oh, there was no harm done." Legolas grinned, squeezing her hand gently in comfort. "And you were quite-, ah, adorable, standing there on that table."

"Ah, Legolas." Lalaith muttered with a small laugh, though her laughter did not show in her eyes that only glanced at him for a moment before they dropped away. "I suppose you must think me terribly childish, once again. The last time you came to Imladris, I was racing about after my cousins in my night dress, and now at our first meeting after so many years apart, I am as drunk as a dirty old Dwarf. Why do you even still consider me your friend?"

"Lalaith, why should you think that such small things would make me care any less for you?" he demanded softly, laying a hand against her cheek, and turning her face toward his own.

"I am just-," Lalaith gulped, drawing back from him, and Legolas suddenly realized how near she was to tears. "too much of a child, Legolas. And so far beneath you, that I-,"

"What?" He teased lightly, hoping to bring a smile again to her face, "Do you mean to remind me again of how much older I am, than you, Lalaith?"

"No." She grinned, shaking her head. "I just-, I sometimes wonder-," her lips parted slightly as her eyes fell again to the ground.

"Wonder-," he repeated, "what?"

"_Ai_, it is not important," she muttered.

"Of course it is." Legolas insisted gently. "If it is something you have wondered, then it is important to me. For perhaps I have the answer."

"Well," she began reluctantly, her eyes remaining steadfastly upon the ground as she murmured in a barely audible voice, "often I've wondered why you've never married-,"

His heart caught upon a beat in his chest as he pondered her unexpected question. "Because-," he began, his word fading into silence as his own eyes fell suddenly to the ground.

He felt her eyes upon him, and glanced up again to see an alluringly timid smile touch the corners of her soft mouth.

"Because I have been waiting," he finished softly, his eyes delving into hers, pleading silently for some sign of understanding and acceptance.

"For what?" she whispered, the plaintive notes of her voice enough for hope to take root in his heart.

One of his hands reached out, his warm, lean fingers lightly slipping through her own.

"_Legolas_!" The cry that burst forth from a source nearby, sent an almost physical wedge suddenly between the two, and Lalaith leapt back, her eyes jerking toward the sound that had been Elrohir's voice. And sure enough, he appeared before them, round the bend of the trail, stumbling to a wearied halt, his chest heaving from what had been a hard run.

"Elrohir, what is it?" Lalaith asked, her eyes searching her cousin's with unspoken questions.

"Legolas, come. Your father is sending for you." Elrohir urged, fighting his breathlessness. "Smaug. Smaug the great dragon." He gasped.

"What of Smaug?" Legolas demanded, starting forward.

Lalaith's heart caught within her chest. She had heard of the terrifying dragon Smaug in whispered rumors, the dragon who lived under a far, desolate mountain, selfishly guarding the horde of long dead Dwarves.

"He attacked Esgaroth." Elrohir gulped. "But-," he added, with a wave of his hand to assuage the fear that was growing upon Lalaith's face. "It is said that Bard, one of the Men of the Lake, shot an arrow though the one weak point upon his scales." Elrohir paused to draw in a deep breath, letting the news sink in as Legolas and Lalaith exchanged a weighted look before Elrohir grinned broadly and finished, "Smaug is dead!"

"That is good news." Legolas said with a nod, though his eyes bore questions of their own. "So why-,"

"Come!" Elrohir burst. "There is not time to explain now. There is a journey to make. You must go to your father, now."

"Is there danger?" Lalaith asked, her voice ragged edged as she spoke, groping for Legolas' hand before she realized what she was doing. "Surely, if the dragon is dead, there is very little?"

"I would rather you stayed." Elrohir said, with furrowed brows and apology in his eyes. "But I will bring you back a surprise." Glancing at Legolas, a low smile touched his face and he finished, "That is, Legolas will bring you something."

"But where are you going?"

Elrohir grinned widely at her question, and returned, "To the Lonely Mountain."


	18. Chapter 18

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 18**

**January 30, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

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Chapter 18

Lalaith was alone in the high chamber that that had been given her for her own during her stay here in Mirkwood. It had been built like one of the flets of Lórien, high in one of the mighty ageless beeches of Mirkwood near enough to the top of the canopy that sunlight could filter down into her dwelling, catching here and there upon the light gossamer veils that had been hung all around her circular chamber.

Lalaith sat before a high mirror set within a fluted frame of dark wood, but she did not face it. Instead her eyes were turned down as she stabbed her needle with almost vindictive vengeance into the circle of cloth stretched taut upon its frame within her hand. Her eyes could barely see the twining roses of her needlework as they slowly formed upon the cloth, for her eyes were blurred with tears, at one moment angry, and at another, sad, but more often than not, her tears were fearful.

If only Elrohir had allowed her to go with them, she would know what dangers they faced. She would not be here, wondering if they would be returning safely or not. For the news that came back was hasty and fragmented, and Lalaith knew little more than that Thranduil and Legolas as well as Elrohir who had gone with them and all the host of Mirkwood who had marched out, were encamped with the Men of the Lake, beneath the mountain stronghold of the Thorin and his Dwarves.

"_Augh, a plague on men of every race, and their abominable pride_!" She groaned to herself. "_Why not just leave all well alone, and come home, for Varda's sake? A little bit of treasure is not worth all this fuss_!" With a groan that was half angry, half fearful, she stabbed the cloth with ferocity, and gasped suddenly at the sharp pain that lanced through her finger. Angrily she tossed her needlework aside, and glanced at the finger she had impaled, and the bright red bead of blood that had drawn out upon her fingertip.

"Lalaith?" The voice made Lalaith look up sharply as Aseaiel's voice reached her from below upon the steps that entwined the tree.

"Your highness." Lalaith returned, pouncing to her feet, and quickly smearing away the tiny bead of blood upon her finger. Her effort was in vain, though, for from the tiny needle puncture, another bead of blood seeped upon her fingertip. Lalaith rolled her eyes in frustration, tucking her wounded hand into the other, and burying them in the folds of her skirt as Aseaiel, unaccompanied, climbed into view.

The queen's eyes were rimmed in red, as if she had been crying herself, though now, her tears were dry. Her ageless face was drawn and as pale as the moon from her own worry and grief. Lalaith gulped, suddenly gripped with a fist of guilt as she realized that this ordeal of waiting, and wondering was not hers alone to bear.

Without a word, Aseaiel crossed the room to her, and drew Lalaith into a tight embrace which she could not help but return. Aseaiel's hair twined loosely upon her head within a silver diadem, smelled sweetly of elanor, and reminded Lalaith for a fleeting moment, of Celebrian.

"You have been crying, Lalaith." Aseaiel murmured, drawing back and studying the maiden's own bloodshot eyes.

Lalaith bobbed her head in silent acknowledgement. "Forgive me, my lady. I know it is not good for me to sit alone in my troubled thoughts, but I have been worried. For Legolas, and for Elrohir, and your people."

Aseaiel smiled at this. "Then perhaps it is good that you have a visitor. One who has come all the way from Lothlórien, out of concern for you."

"Oh, is it Elladan?" Lalaith gasped, her heart suddenly lightening. And without waiting for an answer, she drew away from Aseaiel's side, and hurried out of her chamber, snatching her skirt up into her hands as she hurried down around the twining steps toward the ground below. Her feet within the soft silken slippers she wore, were silent as she moved, so that when at last she alighted upon the ground at the base of the tall ancient beech, her visitor did not hear her.

He stood with his back to her, his silver riding cloak still clasped about his shoulders, though a servant must have already led his mount away, for he was alone, his hands behind his back as his eyes lifted in studious contemplation at the high trees surrounding him, tall and great, though darker than the golden Mallyrn of Lórien.

As she stepped from the lowest step upon the soft earth of the path before her, a low, barely audible growl of disapproval rolled from his lips as he muttered in a soft, slightly arrogant tone, "And he thinks he can win her, only to bring her _here_?" He muttered, half beneath his breath. "The Golden Wood is not so treacherous a place-,"

"Haldir?" Lalaith called out, and his words cut off as he spun to face her. His eyes, intense and probing, found hers, and Lalaith gulped, suddenly remembering as nervousness weakened her limbs, the words Elrohir had spoken the first day they had come to Thranduil's realm.

"Lalaith!" He cried out in a voice of sudden delight as he drew near, and she found herself, much to her consternation, caught up within the circle of his strong arms, and twirled off her feet in his exuberance.

"We heard the news in the Golden Wood." Haldir said when he set her down at last, his words carrying a far more sobered tone than before. "And I grew worried for you."

"Did Elladan and Arwen, or perhaps my grandparents send you?" Lalaith asked, searching his eyes that sparked and danced as he gazed down at her.

"No -," he grinned, almost mischievously, and glanced away momentarily. "I asked their leave, to be sure, but it was I who wished to come ensure that you were safe."

"Oh, Haldir, I-," Lalaith's words caught within her throat. She had to force herself to speak as she smiled bravely. "I am grateful for your concern, but I assure you, I am quite safe here, in King Thranduil's realm."

Haldir's lips pursed, and he glanced at the ground musing in thoughtfulness, before he spoke in softened tones, "Be that as it is, I still wished to come see you. Do you-," his eyes focused upon Lalaith's, and a distant pleading seeped into his gaze as he queried, "do you wish I had not come?"

"No Haldir," Lalaith sighed, and smiled softly. "You are my friend. I am always glad to see you."

Haldir smiled hopefully at these words, and a shard of pity smote her heart. From his expression, Lalaith suddenly knew, as her heart gave a sudden throb of pain, that Elrohir was right. Haldir felt for her something beyond friendship. But she did not, she _could not_ return his affection!

"Lalaith?"

Her eyes had fallen away without her willing them to, and even Haldir's gentle voice could not bring her gaze up.

"Lord Haldir of Lórien,"

The voice was Queen Aseaiel's, and Lalaith looked up gratefully as she drew back from Haldir to see the Queen's gaze, flitting back and forth between the maiden and the Marchwarden.

"Evening is drawing on, Lord Haldir." Aseaiel murmured crisply. "Supper will be ready, and your journey was undoubtedly taxing. Will you not come share our table?"

"Yes, thank you, your highness." Haldir said, turning to the queen and bowing low, before he straightened, and offered Lalaith the crook of his arm. "May I have the honor?"

Lalaith hesitated. Her eyes flit from his proffered arm to Aseaiel's suddenly questioning eyes, and back again. Her eyes lifted to Haldir's, and she gulped hard as she saw the hopeful smile within his eyes slowly begin to fade at her hesitation.

"Of course." She managed to choke, laying her hand lightly within the crook of his arm as she forced and affable smile upon her face. "But the honor would be mine, Haldir."

Legolas lay awake in the dark, staring up at the canvas ceiling that hung limp and unmoving in the heavy night air that lay over the camp. Outside, the cooking fires were dying slowly, casting weird and mottled shapes against the walls of his tent. Beside him, Elrohir slept, snuggled warmly in his blanket, a smile of contentment curling his lips like a little Elfling, even in sleep.

With a soft groan, he sat up, and rubbed his sleepless eyes, wishing he did not have such thoughts tumbling so mercilessly through his brain. Again and again he saw the face of the maiden to whom he knew his heart belong, her hair flowing long about her, her hand raised in a silent farewell where she stood beside his mother as he marched out beside his father and Elrohir. Her eyes had been swollen with unshed tears as she returned his gaze steadily, without wavering. It had not been many days before, but it had seemed like ages since he had been with her last.

What was in her heart for him? He wondered. Even with her declaration that she did not love Haldir, could he dare to hope that she might love him?

What did it matter, anyway? He demanded of himself. Why should such trivial thoughts torment him and keep him from sleep, when graver matters were at hand?

With a sudden burst of angry energy, he scrambled to his feet, spatting aside the tent door in almost the same motion. The camp was silent, and aside from the flickering of the fires, and the soft silver lights of the elven lanterns hung here and there before the door flaps, nothing moved among the tents.

He could hear the low gurgle of the near river some distance away, and knowing nothing else to do, he made his way toward it.

Two night watchmen stood together leaning on their tall spears at the edge of the tents, conversing together in soft voices, but at his approach, they turned swiftly, lowering their spears.

"_Daro_!" One called out in a nervous voice, but Legolas held his hand up.

"Peace, my friends, it is Legolas." He returned.

"Ah, the king's son." The second Elf muttered in a breath of relief as once again, the points of their spears were raised. "Forgive us."

"No need to ask my pardon." He assured them easily. "These past days have brought that which we have not expected, and much that makes us unsure. The Dwarves unwilling to bargain, and that little companion of theirs, what manner of creature he is-,"

"Will Thorin the Dwarf be softened on his stand at all, do you think, my lord?" The first watchman asked.

"Not in the least measure, I fear." Legolas returned with a low breath as the others mumbled in low disappointment. "He will not come down out of his stronghold unless we retreat entirely and leave the Men to parley with him as he has demanded, or unless by some miracle, we were to obtain something that is of value to him with which we could bargain-,"

As these last words left his mouth, a loud splash came rocking up from the near bank of the river, and all eyes jerked in that direction.

The ribbon of the river was not far from where they stood, a broad silver band, beneath the light of the night sky. But though the sound had been close, Legolas could see nothing.

"Come with me." He ordered, and the two watchmen obeyed, but not before they had darted to the nearest tents, snatching up clear elven lanterns, a silver unwavering light set within clear crystal, and followed his shadow as he made his way swiftly and cautiously down toward the edge of the water.

"That was no fish!" Legolas breathed, as his eyes scanned the edge of the water. "There is a spy about!"

One of the guards hurried forward, his lamp swinging wildly about in his hand, casting silver light all about that danced crazily off the flowing water, and the rocks at their feet.

"Hide your lights!" He hissed, his brows knitting as his eyes found the large, wondering eyes of his two watchmen. "They will help him more than us, if it is that odd little creature that is said to be their servant."

"Servant indeed." A voice piped up nearby, speaking in the choppy tones of the Common Tongue, followed by a bellowing sneeze. "Let's have a light!" For as small a voice as it was, it was menacing and fearless in its right. "I am here if you want me!"

A moment later, Legolas drew in a hard breath of awed shock, for before him, beside a rock, where no living thing had been in the moments before, a small person appeared, a child, it first seemed, but it was not a child. More like a small Man, he was, dressed in breeches that only reached halfway down his rather thick calves, his feet large and bare, carpeted with thick curling brown fur, his eyes frightened in spite of his stalwart bearing. He wore also, a ragged looking little coat over a small shining shirt of what seemed to be mithril, and a portion of his coat bulged outward, something large and round that he carried hidden beneath. Whatever it was, it seemed to be of some vital importance, from the way the creature clutched it closely, as if he feared to drop it, or expose it to their view. Legolas remembered seeing him from a distance, up within the mountain beside Thorin, but at a distance, he had not been able to discern what manner of creature it was. Now, though he'd never seen one of its kind this close before, the answers fell quickly into place in his mind. For he remembered hearing once, from Lalaith, that she had read about such creatures in her uncle's books. Little creatures who lived far in the West, beyond the Misty Mountains, even beyond the empty wild to the west of Imladris in a distant land. And this particular little folk, the Pheriannath, Lalaith had said, called themselves _Hobbits_.


	19. Chapter 19

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 19**

**February 1, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

Chapter 19

Legolas' mind reeled with all he had seen that night, as he with several others, walked through the camp beneath the frosty light of the midnight stars. The little Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, whom they were escorting to the foot of the mountain, trudged soberly along in their midst. Small and frightened he appeared, his coat hanging off of his slender, half starved frame now that the Arkenstone had been surrendered to Bard.

Legolas looked with pity on the somber little creature as his mind traveled back to the moment when the little Hobbit standing before Thranduil and Bard, had drawn the great round jewel from beneath his coat. Until that point, Legolas had been standing nearby, only paying half of his attention to what the little Hobbit, was saying to his father and to Bard, as the three sat near each other upon the ground before a flickering fire. But when Bilbo drew forth the thing he had held beneath his coat and threw away the little rag he had wrapped around it, Legolas' every sense was drawn suddenly to the shining treasure, and he took an involuntary step forward as his father leapt to his feet in amazement. It was as if the Hobbit had suddenly unveiled a Silmaril in their midst. But not even the light of the Silmarils could outshine this magnificent jewel.

It was as if liquid moonlight pure and cold, had been poured into a crystal globe. From its many facets silver light spilled forth, clear and chill in many sundry beams of silver, as the light of many bright stars. Yet in spite of its breathtaking beauty, Legolas found himself warmly imagining how it paled at the memory of the light within Lalaith's eyes, which outshone the brightness of any cold, unfeeling gem.

"_This is the Arkenstone of Thrain_," the little Hobbit Bilbo had said, making no effort to hide the wistfulness in his voice. "_The Heart of the Mountain; and it is also the heart of Thorin. He values it above a river of gold_."

Legolas had drawn in a low breath then, understanding the grim Dwarf's longing for the great jewel.

"_I give it to you. It will aid you in your bargaining_," the young Hobbit had finished. Then Bilbo, with a shudder, and a reluctant expression, had reached his hand slowly forward, and surrendered the marvelous stone to Bard who had extended his hand in silent amazement.

Legolas retreated from the memory and turned his gaze now upon the little Hobbit, and watched him as he clutched his ragged coat all the more tightly to him, and tried in vain to repress a shudder.

"There is no real need for you to return to them," Legolas offered in a gentle voice as he imagined what awaited the poor Hobbit when the Dwarves learned of his betrayal.

"Oh, yes indeed, I must return," Bilbo countered, barely looking up. "I ought not to leave my friends like this after all we have gone through together. And I promised to wake Bombur at midnight."

Legolas smiled admiring the small Hobbit's resolve.

"Why did you do it?" he gently asked of the Hobbit, who now lifted his head to fully observe the Elf who spoke to him. "Why did you give us the Arkenstone?"

"Well, now," Bilbo sighed, and his arms flopped in a weary shrug, "I am dreadfully tired of all this treasure business. Thorin has let the lust for dragon's treasure get to his heart, and it's not good for him. He'd starve on his gold before giving even a portion to Bard and his folk from the Long Lake, and he'd make the rest of us starve with him. And Dain with five hundred Dwarves from the Iron Hills, is coming, as I've already told your father-," Legolas nodded at this, and drew in a low breath at the thought, "and I would like everyone involved to avoid such a messy business as _that_ could become if I can help it."

Bilbo drew out a long sigh, "If there's anything Thorin will be willing to trade for, so that you and the Men can get on your way," he sighed again and finished, "and _I_ can get back to my home, it's the Arkenstone."

"Well done, Master Baggins!" a voice from ahead called out, and Legolas, Bilbo and the company stopped as they both looked up to see an old man wrapped in a dark cloak rise from where he had been sitting before a tent door and came towards them. A hand appeared from beneath the dark cloak, marked and furrowed as with age, yet it was strong and sure as it clapped Bilbo upon the back. "There is always more about you than anyone expects."

His eyes now, turned upon Legolas, and he threw back his hood, smiling warmly, his familiar eyes sparkling brightly beneath the stars' wane light.

"And how is Legolas, the son of the king?" his kindly voice asked gentle and warm as he had always been.

"I am well, _Mithrandir_," Legolas returned with a slow smile, and a low, deferential bow of his head.

...

Lalaith stood upon the veranda that edged her chambers, her arms folded tightly across her as she stared out into the shadows of the night, feeling her jaw clenching and unclenching in her ire and nervousness. Beside her, though many paces away, Haldir stood, his hands resting lightly on the railing as if he were entirely oblivious to her discomfort as he uttered a low sigh.

"The nights in Lórien are far less forbidding than the nights are here. "He nodded with an almost arrogant sniff toward the river of dark water that they could both see from her railing as it flowed beneath the bridge and on below the arching limbs of the beeches as it made its clattering way toward the edge of the forest. "I need not gaze out from my window, and wonder what manner of unholy creatures might be peering hungrily out at me from their nets of webbing, wishing they could ensnare me in them." He uttered a short bark of a laugh, and added, "I much prefer the wholesomeness of the Golden Wood, and the Mallyrn to these woods, don't you, Lalaith?"

Barely glancing at him, she made a low sound in her throat, which he seemed to take as agreement, and he smiled.

"I could take you back there, if you wish." His voice was soft as he slowly edged toward her. She could feel the heat of his eyes fixed unmovingly upon her.

Lalaith said nothing, but only clutched her arms all the tighter her breath nervously choking her. Oh, why had Queen Aseaiel insisted that she walk with Haldir after the evening meal had finished? Of course she owed him something, after he had come all this way from the Golden Wood just to ensure himself that she was safe. But why was he still here? She had taken him on a long winding path through the trees, past her nurse's tomb, and back here again, and the night was late, yet still he would not leave and make his way to the tree borne rooms that had been set aside for him.

"You would have returned to Lórien long ago, if such business as has occurred over this dead dragon Smaug had not arisen." Haldir continued, reaching her side. "So taking you back would be a small matter. You could be back in the Golden Wood before Elrohir and-," he drew in a quick breath, "Thranduil's people have returned."

Lalaith gulped involuntarily as a warm hand gently squeezed the curve of her shoulder. "You could leave a message that you are in my care, so your cousin would have no need to worry for you. He could follow after in good time."

"No," she snipped rapidly. "I will not leave until I know that they are returned safely."

A low sound, one that unmistakably spoke his disappointment, echoed out of his throat.

"How is Lothirien, Haldir?" she asked as she gently, though firmly, edged away from his touch upon her shoulder.

Haldir's eyes dropped as his brows furrowed silently. "She is well, as always," he said with a low nod. "Since you left, she has been growing somewhat happier than she has been of late." He smiled and glanced away, an almost wistful look crossing his eyes. "Which brings me much relief."

"That makes me glad." Lalaith sighed sincerely, turning to look up into Haldir's eyes. "She deserves to be happy."

"She does deserve happiness," Haldir agreed, smiling. But the smile Lalaith meant to return to him fell quickly away as she felt the warmth of his hand upon her back. "As do you-,"

"She deserves a good man who loves only her, and would wish for nothing else but to make her happy," she found herself spouting, her words following one another in rapid succession.

"True enough." Haldir said with a smile, though his words sounded sad. "But that is nothing for you or I to concern ourselves over. Lothirien is very beautiful, and she has several suitors."

"I doubt she notices any of them." Lalaith sighed, turning to gaze over the darkening forest. Lights within many of the near houses that were set within the boughs of the high trees were winking in the darkness, and she focused her gaze on these, willing her limbs to relax. Unfolding her arms, she rested her finger tips lightly against the railing as she said, "I would think, Haldir, that there is only one she notices, and whose affection she craves."

"And what of you, Lalaith?" Haldir asked.

Lalaith gulped. She could feel his words against her hair. He had drawn so close, that she could feel the movement of his breath against her back as he placed his hands one on either side of her against the railing, as his chin rested atop her hair.

"Do you notice any of your suitors? Is there one whose affection you long for, whom you dream of unceasingly, whose very name stirs within you a longing that cannot be ignored?"

Lalaith opened her mouth to respond to this, but found she could not. Could she dare to break his heart? To speak the truth would be to confess that her answer was indeed yes, but that her ever increasing longing was for Legolas, not Haldir. What would that do to him? Haldir was her friend, and she did not wish to hurt him, but neither did she want to allow him upon paths were she did not wish for him to tread.

"Lalaith?" The tender tones in Haldir's voice quavered through her, and she found herself trembling as she felt his hands large and warm, move to cover her own. Without breaking contact with her, his fingertips slid up her arms until his hands covered her shoulders and he firmly, yet gently turned her slowly to face him.

His eyes were alight in the dark as he murmured, "Do you understand of what I am speaking?"

"Yes, Haldir." She whispered in answer to his query. But as a wane smile began its way across his face, at her answer, Lalaith's heart sank. He had misunderstood her. She had said _yes_, meaning that she understood his question. But he had taken her answer to mean that she both understood his question, and answered it. In the way he had hoped.

Her world seemed to freeze as his sturdy arms slipped about her, and his head began to lower, ever so slowly, toward her own. Panic rose in her, but she fought it desperately down.

"Yes, Haldir, I know of what you speak." She blurted, edging out of the circle his arms had created about her, uttering a soft laugh. "But I doubt I could gather as many suitors to me as Lothirien doubtlessly is plagued with. As her greatest friend, surely you have noticed how her beauty is beyond compare."

"Lalaith?" he asked softly, and her eyes crushed closed at his plaintive, confused tones edged with a thread of pain.

"Haldir, please. The night has grown late, and I am weary." She knew she was stammering shamelessly, but she did not care. "Surely you must be more than ready to rest, after your long ride today."

"Yes," he muttered, the disappointment in his voice adding a gravely undertone to his words. "Suddenly I am very tired, Lalaith." His arms slipped away from her to fall helplessly to his sides. He turned away from her, and moved slowly away from her along the portico as it bent around the curve of the beech, toward the twining staircase that wove its way away from her door, and downward around the tree's massive trunk.

Lalaith followed him silently, wringing her hands and cursing herself for hurting him.

He dropped down the first steps that entwined the great beech, and paused turning back his eyes and seeking hers where she stood behind him, watching him with sorrowful, timid eyes.

"Lalaith-," he muttered with a voice that quavered softly as he spoke.

"Yes?" She returned, hearing her own voice equally unsure as his.

"Your beauty, like Lothirien's, is beyond compare."

She stiffened as his hand came up, the bare tips of his fingers brushing her cheek.

"The Valiër themselves must envy you."

She stood unmoving a long moment, not knowing how to respond to this, before she uttered a broken sigh and murmured, "Goodnight, Haldir. Sleep well."

At this, Haldir smiled, a weak, sad smile as if mildly humored by something she had said. "Goodnight, Lalaith." He murmured, then turned away.

Lalaith watched his back, straight and strong, though his head was slightly bent in an attitude of weariness as he descended her steps away from her, until he had moved round the great trunk, and had passed beyond her sight.

Turning back, she moved into the shadows of her room until she stood at the foot of her bed.

"Oh, Legolas. Come back," she murmured, hearing her voice thickened with tears she did not wish to fall, and her arms ached with an emptiness she didn't understand. "Things would be so much simpler with you here."

Biting back tears, and not bothering herself to change into her night gown, she flung herself onto her bed, and buried her face in her pillow, though she knew sleep would be long in coming.


	20. Chapter 20

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 20**

**February 3, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

Chapter 20

A grey mist low upon the eastern horizon, heralded the dawn that was still some few hours away as Legolas walked slowly back and forth before his father's tent where it sat within the center of camp. The green banner of the realm of Mirkwood set on a high standard before the door, fluttered and snapped softly in the morning breeze that flowed through the quiet camp. Beyond the flap of the door, he could see a light burning inside. Gandalf, thank the Valar for his timely arrival, would be counseling Thranduil and Bard on the best course of action to take if Thorin did not agree to the final terms of exchange in concerning the Arkenstone.

"Stop pacing, Legolas." Muttered Elrohir where he sat beside a waning fire, absently twirling a broken stick through his fingers, and occasionally cracking bits of it off here and there to toss into the fading flames. "You're making me nervous."

Legolas cast a glowering grimace at Elrond's youngest son, and continued with his pacing.

"A plague on the stiff necks of _Dwarves_!" Legolas grated, spitting out the last word as if it were something vile and bitter in his mouth. "A curse upon all their stunted, vile race! What have they in their heads, aside from the dead rocks that they dig?"

A soft grunt of a laugh parted Elrohir's lips, but Legolas continued as if he had not heard.

"Never will I look upon a Dwarf with the least measure of favor!" He continued heatedly as he remembered Thorin's continued stubbornness. "If Mithrandir had not been among us, and his voice had not stayed Thorin's hand, the vile, greedy Dwarf would have thrown Bilbo down from his stronghold onto the rocks, when he realized it was he who had given us the Arkenstone!" Legolas clenched his jaw, remembering the events of the previous day with harsh distaste. "The fool acted as if we meant to steal the jewel, not trade it for what is rightly due to the Men of the Lake. Cursed Dwarf!"

"Watch." Elrohir muttered with a wry grin, tossing another bit of stick into the fire that cracked and snapped in the heat of the flames. "One day, one of your most cherished friends will be a Dwarf, and you will find yourself taking back all your words."

Legolas clenched his jaw, realizing with a short glance at Elrohir's twisted smirk, that he was mocking him.

"I doubt that, Elrondion," Legolas muttered through his teeth as Elrohir continued to chuckle.

But his laughter was cut swiftly off by a cry from the far end of the camp, and a young man, one of the Men of the Lake, came darting through the tents toward Thranduil's tent.

Elrohir, all humor wiped in an instant from his face, leapt to his feet as the young mortal stumbled to a stop. Only a young man he was, with dark hair, and only the shadow of a youth's beard upon his face. His eyes were wide with fear.

"My lords-," he gasped in the tongue of the Men, as he bent low, his hands pressed hard against his knees, betraying his exhaustion. "The Elvenking, and Bard. I must see them."

"Ah, and what is the news you bring?" Gandalf came stooping beneath the tent door, followed by Thranduil and Bard, and last of all, little Bilbo, blinking, and wrapped in a ragged blanket.

"My lords." The young man gulped, straightening up swiftly. "There is a host of Dwarves coming. They appeared around the eastern spur of the mountain, and are now hastening toward us. Dain and his Dwarves from the Iron Hills, that Thorin summoned by the aid of his ravens." The youth drew in a harsh breath here and blurted, "My lords, they come clad as for war."

...

"Good morning, Lalaith."

Lalaith's eyes rose to those of the Marchwarden of Lórien as he came slowly toward her where she sat alone upon a great upturned root beside the narrow path that wound its way through the beeches. The morning sounds of creaking insects, and the distant hush of moving water reached their ears, but did not sooth the awkwardness she suddenly felt at his approach.

She gulped softly, and dropped her eyes once more to the needlework that sat upon her lap. The twining roses that were not yet finished.

"Good morning, Haldir," she muttered to her lap.

Her breath came in a short quick spurt as she felt him sit down beside her, and reach tentatively for her hand.

"Lalaith," he began in a plaintive voice, "I did not mean to offend you last night, nor did I wish for you to think that I meant in any way, to be dishonorable."

"I know, Haldir." Lalaith glanced up again quickly, her eyes finding his penitent gaze. "You are a true and good friend, Haldir. I would trust you with my life."

At Lalaith's steady gaze and her open hearted declaration, a cautious smile came slowly to Haldir's face. One which Lalaith tentatively returned.

"That is good," he breathed softly, his hand lightly holding her own as it rested in it, his thumb trailing softly over her fingers as he gazed down at her hand as if in deep pondering. "I would never wish to lose your trust, and your good graces, Lalaith."

"You are one of the most honorable men I know, Haldir. You will never lose my trust." She assured him in a low voice, turning back to her needlework, and busying herself with the silver green leaf that was forming upon the cloth beneath her needle.

"Lalaith?"

His voice bore a dejected tone, and she stopped her work, and slowly looked up into gentle, plaintive eyes.

"Yes, Haldir?" She asked, her heart catching on a beat.

"Is-," Haldir shifted his weight, suddenly pulling his hand from hers as his eyes darkened. He leaned his elbows upon his knees, his hands clasped together as he his gaze trailed far and away, "is your trust all that I-," he drew in a ragged breath and rapidly finished, "all that I possess?"

Lalaith caught a hard gasp in her throat at the question, and closed her eyes bowing her head. She knew what he asked. But she could not answer him as he wished. Or even answer him with the words he feared to hear. But as Haldir's hand once again touched hers, his caress light, and unobtrusive, her eyes came open, as a breath came swiftly into her lungs. And slowly, she managed to speak.

"My trust, my friendship, my respect." She glanced downward at the twining roses upon her cloth. "Everything Elladan and Elrohir have, you do. Though perhaps you have a bit more, for you have never dumped frogs into my bed."

At this, he laughed softly, though his smile did not reach his eyes.

To this, Lalaith could do no more but sigh, and turn her eyes once again, upon her needlework.

...

"_Halt_!"

Wind whipped about the figure that had thrust itself suddenly in front of the army of Dwarves that had been advancing beneath the blackening sky, their mail glinting as they rushed forward in the swiftly waning light. The voice carried easily in spite of the harsh wind that whipped about Legolas as he stood beside his father, his gaze set, his bow clenched within his fist as he waited the coming enemy. Anger had been burning in him, all he had ever been taught of Dwarves came back to him now, and he had been steeled for a bloody battle. But now, he gazed upon Gandalf between their armies, and his rage ebbed to a warm unsurity within his chest.

"Halt!" The figure that was Gandalf called as he stood between the angry, battle ready Dwarves, and the armies of Men and Elves that staunchly waited for them. His arms were upraised, the wind whipping fiercely about him as it came even harder and bitingly cold now. The sky had taken on an unnatural grey tone, a sickly color that caused a hard knot to form in the pit of Legolas' belly as the billowing black clouds grew at a fierce pace.

The staff that was in Gandalf's hand blazed forth with a flash like white lightening over the fuming armies, bringing the angry Dwarves to a sudden and baffled halt.

"Dread has come upon you all!" His broad voice carried over the rising wind, strong and unbending as he cried. "Alas! It has come more swiftly than I guessed. The Goblins are upon you! Bolg of the North is coming, O Dain! whose father you slew in Moria. Behold! The bats are above his army like a sea of locusts. They ride upon wolves and Wargs are in their train!"

Bats? Legolas' eyes shot to the sky, as did the eyes of the Dwarven army, and the Men of the Lake, and all the Elves. And as surely as Gandalf had said, he saw it now.

Beneath the great rolling cloud of blackness above the mountain that swirled forward on the biting winter wind with sharp and ragged lightning, came another cloud. Though this came not with the wind, for it came down from the north, whirling forward like a vast cloud of great birds at the first, a mass of swiftly beating black wings.

Legolas gave a glance to his father, who stood beside him. A gleam was in his father's eye as he gazed out upon Gandalf. Like his son, Thranduil wore no helm, nor armor, for the Dwarves had come upon them more swiftly than they had expected. Yet still, Thranduil's bearing was noble and fearless, and among his people, though he stood unadorned among them, none could mistake that he was their king. All that moved about him was his golden hair which whipped over his chest and about his shoulders in the swift wind. His eyes that had been fixed with a burning light upon the Dwarves now rested on Gandalf before he offered a momentary glance to his son. Thranduil nodded as they traded a look which Legolas understood, no words passing between them, though all about them now were cries of amazement and confusion.

No matter his dislike for Dwarves, goblins and orcs were the foes of all the free people of Arda. And Legolas saw in his father's eyes that these Dwarves had now, by the common hatred they shared with them of the vile spawn of Morgoth, suddenly become their allies.

"Come!" Gandalf called, raising a hand to beckon the Dwarves forward, not in battle now, but in invitation. "There is time yet for council. Let Dain son of Nain come swiftly to us!"

With these words, the Dwarves, with weapons lowered, came forward now, in a slow mass, flashes of lightening glinting off their thick helms and shining armor. This was not the first time Legolas had seen a Dwarf, but it was the first time he had seen so many, and so close. Their hair and beards were thick, their hair the color of either red, rust or brown, plaited and thrust into their belts. Though their statures were small, their limbs were thick and brawny, their faces stern and grim as they came slowly toward the line of Elves and Men that awaited them.

"Come!" Gandalf repeated urgently, leading them ever closer. "The time grows short!"

The foremost Dwarf among them had a short, squat face, his eyes shifting suspiciously between Gandalf and Thranduil. A small twist of a smile crossed Legolas' face at this. Even the Dwarves knew his father was king, though none had told them. The leader's thick, plaited beard was dark brown, almost black, and within his leather gauntleted hands, he held a heavy mattock, which he shifted to one hand, and lowered to his side as he and the line of Dwarves at his back drew ever closer. He glanced one last time at Gandalf, as if seeking for some sign of reassurance before he drew ever closer toward Thranduil, and with a gruff, reluctant snort, glanced once at the darkening sky, at the sinister, undulating cloud that drew ever closer from the bleak north, then as his eyes shifted back to Thranduil, he held out his hand

And as Thranduil reached out and clasped the Dwarf's proffered hand, a low murmur swept acrossed the masses of the three gathered armies.

"Ho, Elvenking." The Dwarf uttered in a low growl of a voice. "I am Dain. Son of Nain."


	21. Chapter 21

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 21**

**February 6, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

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Chapter 21

"Good, Lalaith. Very good. Well done." Haldir praised, his smile broad as he stepped back, casually spinning a pair of long silver knives in his hands as his chest rose and fell from his previous exertion.

Lalaith smiled wanly at his garrulous approval, knowing she had done little to elicit his flattery. Her throat tightened as she guessed at his reasons behind his effusive praise, but she gulped it down. His attentions were easier to handle when the two were sparring, for now she found an outlet for her nervous energy, and the casual environment allowed for more flurried and trivial conversation than the deep and nearly dangerous path Haldir had attempted to take that morning.

Thankfully, he had not attempted to talk along that vein the rest of the day, and since then, she had found his company quite pleasant, though her nervousness had never quite left her. But now, as she held her own knives, spinning them back and forth with the casual grace that Haldir exhibited, she found the tight sense of fear in her almost entirely faded.

"Ah, yes, Haldir." She gasped, running the sleeve of her loose tunic across her damp brow. "But nothing compared to you. You at least, are not constantly slipping and scratching me to pieces." She nodded at the arm of his own sleeve that she had only moments before, sliced through. "I am sorry." She continued, furrowing her brow. "Is it bleeding?"

"Pah, no." Haldir glanced down at his arm in complete indifference. "You didn't even break the skin. The mark will be gone in but an hour or so. Do no worry." His eyes traveled over her appreciatively as he added, "But even if you were to cut me, I doubt I would even notice."

Lalaith's lips pursed as she watched his eyes travel over her, noting how his eyes seemed to linger on the rise and fall of her bosom, and she tightened her jaw in agitation.

"Haldir!" She practically barked, and he jerked, his eyes flying to her face. "Then shall we?" She skipped backward to the center of the clearing where they had been practicing, her eyes bright with challenge as she clasped her knives within her hands, and took a defensive stance. "Since you have essentially, given me permission to cut you to ribbons, I shall not feel too terribly guilty-,"

Her words were cut off as Haldir grinned wickedly and fairly threw himself across the clearing at her.

Lalaith gasped and ducked away from his sudden attack, rolling away delivering a few playful slashes at his abdomen as he flew over and past her. She straightened, grinning as Haldir stopped, his gaze flying about as if seeking for her before he turned, and narrowed his eyes, offering her another vicious grin.

"_Very_ good, Lalaith." He seethed, slowly striding toward her.

"Thank you." She nodded, drawing backward as he came toward her. "It is a trick I learned quickly when Legolas started teaching me. I learned right away with his tutelage that I do not have the physical strength to challenge such a frontal assault like that, but I do have the agility to avoid it. And I slowly perfected it with the help of Elladan and Elrohir."

"Hmm." He nodded, and continued to come at her.

"Ah," she gulped nervously, "so you're dead. Now we start over."

"Good." Haldir offered her a breathless half nod. "Then we can start from here."

All in the same moment, two unexpected things happened. Haldir dropped suddenly out of her vision, and Lalaith found her feet kicked out from under herself.

"_Oumph_!" She coughed, finding herself suddenly and awkwardly upon her backside, which stung aggrievedly from her abrupt landing.

She blinked hard and shook her head, glaring at Haldir, whose eyes were now level with her own as he smirked proudly, settling cross legged in front of her.

"What-," she grumbled, "did you do?" She shifted her weight uncomfortably, certain her wounded appendage would bruise from her rough landing.

"I swept your feet right out from under you, and you did not even see it coming." He chuckled. "Though when I do that with Lothirien she is far more adept at falling, than you I must say."

"You great scoundrel!" Lalaith grumbled. "You mean to tell me that you masquerade around Lothlórien as an honorable gentlemen, whilst unbeknownst to any others, you derive great joy from going about tripping up young ladies?"

"Ha!" Haldir smirked. "Your pride is sore because you lost this round."

"Rascal." Lalaith cursed. "Thanks to you, my pride is not the only part of me that is sore."

But her words were cut off as Haldir threw his head back and in an uncharacteristic display, laughed merrily.

"Oh, be silent!" She cried, perturbed. "Be silent, Haldir!"

"Oh, forgive me." He sniffed, shaking his head, and stilling his laughter. "I do nothing of which you accuse me. I have taught Lothirien a little, how to use weapons, a bow, and long knives, swords, too. And-," he grinned again. "My little trick I just demonstrated to you. She's become quite adept at them all."

"She _wanted_ you to teach her?" Lalaith asked, sitting up straighter, and drawing her legs into herself as she clapped her knives upon her lap. "But she seems like such a lady-,"

"And so do you!" Haldir quickly retaliated with a swift though gentle grin as he hopped easily to his feet, and bowed low, offering her a hand. "Yet look at you! Attempting to slice the honorable Marchwarden of Lórien to ribbons-, falling as heavily as a boulder upon-," he choked and finished, "upon the ground." He shook his head as his eyes danced mischievously as his warm hand circled around her own and drew her gently to her feet. "Yet at all other times, you are one of the most impeccable and graceful ladies I have ever known."

Haldir cleared his throat softly and asked, with an effort to keep his voice light, "I trust you enjoyed Legolas' Autumn Festival. Did you dance much-, with him?"

"No, I, eh, slept through the entire feast, I am afraid." She murmured, softly clearing her throat, and drawing her hand from his own.

"So the rumours are true, then?" He asked, soft slyness oiling his voice.

Lalaith looked up, her eyes questioning him.

"You got drunk?" He chortled. "So drunk you fell into a swoon?"

"Oh, Haldir! Who told you?" She moaned, throwing up her hands. "Oh, it doesn't matter. You must despise me now!"

"Lalaith, do not fear." He muttered with a soft smile that grew gradually softer as he spoke. "You have not decreased in my eyes, for such a small infraction. As Lothirien is, you Lalaith, are a many faceted jewel."

Lalaith's eyes dropped at this, and she felt heat rushing again to her face. Haldir's voice had been light as he spoke, but now, as his eyes rested upon her, she felt the heated weight of his gaze. And she did not dare to look up.

Releasing a huff of air, Lalaith turned away from him and strode briskly toward the edge of the clearing where their extra gear had been casually flung. "It is time we return." She grunted, snatching up her quiver, and sliding her two knives into their places. "The sky, for some reason, seems to be darkening far sooner than it ought." She glanced upward, though she knew all she would see where the interlaced branches of the thick canopy. "And it is best not to be on this side of the bridge when the night has come. We must go into the city."

"Indeed." Haldir muttered, glancing about him through the air that was swiftly dimming. A low mist was beginning to creep over the ground, and he suppressed a shudder as he moved to Lalaith's side and snatched up his own gear, slipping his quiver over his shoulders. He caught up his cloak, and moved to fling it about his shoulders, when he paused, and glanced at Lalaith as she faced away from him, busily clasping the belts of her quiver across her chest. She had brought no cloak, and the air was swiftly growing cold.

Lalaith's eyes were down, her back toward Haldir as she adjusted the weight of her quiver across her shoulders. But her movements stalled, and her shoulders stiffened as she felt the soft warmth of cloth settle across her back and the gentle weight of Haldir's hands upon her shoulders.

"I don't need it." He offered as an explanation to her silent inquiry as she turned toward him, and glanced down at the lengths of his cloak that encircled her shoulders. "I am warm enough." He grinned and drew a step back. "Besides, I worry about you."

"You have no need to worry, Haldir. I am safe." Lalaith assured him with a slender smile. "It is Elrohir and Legolas _I_ am worried about. I wish they were here."

"Well," Haldir sighed, his tone carrying a hint of haughtiness, "Legolas is not here with you, is he? Instead, he is off seeking for shiny things locked away in dragons' hoards."

At these words, the slender smile upon Lalaith's face fell away, and she drew a step back, gazing with eyes that had suddenly grown cold up into Haldir's suddenly worried face.

"That is-," Haldir stammered, watching as Lalaith's jaw softly tightened, "I meant that-,"

"You meant that while Legolas is incapable of protecting me, you thought you would come, and see to my care while he is absent." Her words were soft and cold, and laced with a saddened pain, and at this, Haldir flinched.

"Well," Haldir began haltingly.

"Let's go." She clipped, turning away upon the narrow trail that led upon a twisted path through the thickness of the trees eventually to reach the wider elven road before the bridge that led into Thranduil's city.

"Lalaith," Haldir stammered, rushing to catch up with her as she strode at a fierce pace, "forgive me. I did not mean to-,"

"You have no need to ask my forgiveness." She seethed through teeth that were crushed together.

Haldir began, "Lalaith-,"

"I said, you have no reason to apologize." She cast him a sharp glance over her shoulder. "You are here for me, when Legolas is not. When he and Elrohir are off playing soldier in some silly game I do not entirely understand-, and whether they come back unharmed or not is-,"

"You love him, don't you?"

Lalaith's heart stopped in her throat at Haldir's impassioned demand. Her feet stopped as well, and from the heat at her back, she knew Haldir had paused just behind her, wavering within a breath of touching her.

"Of course I love Elrohir. He and Elladan are the closest to true brothers that I have ever had."

"Lalaith." He said, his voice low as slow fingers settled upon her shoulders. "You know that is not what I am asking." She could feel the warmth and the pressure of his hands through the cloth of his cloak that he had draped about her shoulders.

"Haldir, I-," She sighed to the murky gloam. "We must go now."

Behind her, Haldir uttered a low sigh, but did not speak at all. With that, Lalaith continued on, feeling somewhat relieved that she did not immediately hear his footsteps following after her, though she knew she could not evade him forever. The trail was dim, and a low mist crept over the ground. The path dipped and turned, narrow through the dark forest as high mould covered trees crowded in on both sides. When the light had been in the forest, this path had not been so forbidding. It had even seemed quite an adventure to go beyond the bridge over the river that led into Thranduil's city, to take Haldir to practice in the small clearing where Legolas had taken her before. But now, she began to regret her decision. Especially now that they had delayed, and the darkness had grown. An unnatural darkness it seemed, and rightly so, for evening still should have been a few hours away, at the least.

A glimpse of the road with the bridge beyond it, peeked at her through the slowly parting trees, yet Lalaith suddenly stopped. A half unheard sound, as the scuttling of leaves, brushed across the path behind her, and she spun, gazing hard through the misty haze that was growing thicker as the air about her darkened. But she could see nothing.

A soft, light scampering now from between herself and the road made her spin again, only to see nothing. "Haldir?" She called out, hoping he would appear soon.

"_What is this little plaything that has wandered so foolishly into the dark_?" A soft hissing whisper rumbled, in what sounded a feminine voice, but was thick with an animalistic tone.

Lalaith gasped and lifted her head, glancing around, her heart suddenly hammering in her throat, her muscles taut. A pain twitched in the back of her shoulder, but in her fear, she paid it no attention. The voice sounded frighteningly familiar, but where she had heard it before, she could not remember.

"_Ah, is it the dear little thing the dark one sent our mother to bring to him, do you not remember_?" Seethed another voice similar to the first. Though as Lalaith's eyes darted about her, she could see no one, nothing that could be speaking with such voices, and so close to her.

"_By all the dead, my sister_!" Gasped the first voice that had spoken. "_Indeed it is! Is this little one then, the reason that our famed mother never returned, do you think_?"

"_Come little one, tell us, how did such a little poppet as yourself defeat her, when the poison of her venom was so strong, that it dripped like lava from her fangs, and burnt all it chanced to drip upon_?" Asked the second voice, feigning a gentle tone though seething bitterness lay behind it.

A primal fear, spurred by a long forgotten memory bubbled in her blood, and Lalaith cried out, half choking on her fear. "Show yourselves, vile spiders!"

"_Gladly, little one_." Laughed one of the voices, now from above her.

Lalaith's head jerked up, and to her abject terror, she saw two great spiders, as massive as large dogs, slowly trailing down toward her, from the netted tree limbs, letting out thick cording from the spindles upon their globular abdomens as they came.

With a gasp, Lalaith made as if to run, but in that moment, the spiders dropped, one before her, and one behind her with soft thumps upon the trail.

Gulping back her fear, Lalaith reached behind her shoulders, and snatched her knives, clutching them tightly within trembling fists as she glanced one way and then the other into the many black eyes of the two spiders who seemed in no hurry to attack, for they knew she was trapped.

The spiders hissed and seethed at the appearance of her knives.

"_Elves' sharps_!" Hissed one spider, waving its foremost legs, thick with black thornish bristles as its fangs, dripping eagerly with thick black venom, groped back and forth, greedy and hungry. "_She will hurt us_!"

"_Not if we strike her at once_!" Seethed the other, skittering eagerly about over the ground, its legs rustling over the earth like many dried, dead leaves. "_Come, sister. Her blood will be sweet_."

With a hiss, the first spider lunged forward, leaping into the air as she came, her legs coated with thick, black bristles conjoined into the underside of her narrow thorax. Desperately, Lalaith lashed out, the shining blade of her knife flashing across the creature's bulbous abdomen, hot black blood, hissing like boiling acid, burst forth, and splashing across the front of Lalaith's tunic as the spider shrieked, her legs crumpling in upon herself as Lalaith flung the creature's weight off that hit her like a dead, heavy sack. And then Lalaith spun, drawing in her breath in swift heavy gasps as she sought the second spider, thinking she would leap at her as her sister did. But the creature had disappeared.

Had the monster fled, or had she scampered to a different vantage point to leap down upon Lalaith? Lalaith's gaze shot upward, but the spider had not climbed back into the tangled bows of the trees. Perhaps the monster had fled when she had seen what had happened to her sister. With trembling limbs, Lalaith slowly lowered her knives, and began to draw in a low breath.

But the air had scarcely filled her lungs, when she felt a heavy force strike her in the back, so fiercely, that she stumbled forward. Eight barbed talons, hooked wickedly, had clamped around her from behind.

Lalaith did not even have time to scream before two tiny pricks, like sharp, burning needles, had punctured the soft flesh upon the back of her neck. Lalaith tried to twist, to fling the monster off of her, but then the fog entered her mind as the black poison pulsed into her blood. Lethargy stiffened her limbs and her breath stilled. Her knives dropped from her hands. A cold numbness swirled through her body, stilling her blood within her veins.

"_Oh, Elbereth_," she whispered as she fell to her knees, and then upon her face.

She could feel the spider relax her hold, hissing and spitting satisfied curses over her, but she could do nothing. And then came a soft pressure though there was no pain, as if the spider were digging her teeth deeper into Lalaith's veins, and softly, there came a wretched sucking sound as the monster began to draw out her congealed blood. Lalaith's mind screamed in alarm, but there was nothing her petrified limbs could do. The spider was eating her alive.

"Vile miscreant!" A shout, startled and fearful seemed to echo about the trees, and the spider released its fangs, but not its hold. "Release her!"

"_Haldir_." Lalaith breathed. Her weary mind latched upon the distant hope.

"_ Put away your arrow hurler, Elf, and leave me to my prey if you do not wish to share its fate_." The spider hissed.

"Release her now, or die!" Haldir barked.

"_What is she to you_?" The spider laughed. "_Your mate_?"

"No." Haldir growled, though there was an underlying grief in his voice. "But I would die to save her nonetheless."

"_Then_," the spider laughed, "_die for her, if that is your wish._."

The harsh scratching pressure of its legs left Lalaith. In the darkness of her thoughts, Lalaith could hear the scuffle of its feet, a harsh angry hiss, followed by a sharp, hollow thump. Then there was silence.

What had happened? Had the spider killed Haldir? Would it return to complete its unfinished task? She could not move, nor even turn her head as something drew near, its steps soft, and almost silent. Quietly she waited. For death or deliverance, she was not yet certain.

"Oh, Lalaith, what did that beast do to you?" Haldir's voice wrenched with heavy emotion broke from his lips as he knelt at her side. He touched a hand to the base of her neck where the spider had struck, then with gentle hands, turned her over, his face pleading and fearful, coming into her view.

"_Haldir_-," She managed to rasp.

"Hush, Lalaith. You fought well, my friend." He said, trying to grin bravely though she could see the worry in his eyes. "The other spider is all but gutted." He nodded to the spider she had slain, the contents of its depleated abdomen spilled across the trail, then at the one he had slain, an arrow pierced clean through its midsection where it lay, still twitching in its death throes. "And here are your knives."

He gathered up the hafts of her knives into his free hand, examining the one covered in the black acid of spider blood, before he wiped it clean upon his own breeches and slipped them into his own quiver.

"_Haldir_." She mumbled through a mouth that felt thick and dry, "_what is going to happen to me_?"

"You will be fine, Lalaith." Haldir breathed, offering her a heavy smile, his voice weighted as his arms circled about her limp, chilled body and gathered her to him, cradling her against his chest, and lifting her in his arms as he stood, as if she weighed nothing. "The healers here in Mirkwood are well skilled."

"_If I die,_"

"You won't die," he protested, shifting her gently, and clutching her closer against his warm chest as he walked through the dark mist of the forest.

"_Oh, Haldir-,_" She muttered, before the thick black clouds, cold and turbulent that boiled within her mind, rose up in a swell, and dragged her consciousness down in the inky blackness of their depths.


	22. Chapter 22

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 22**

**February 8, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

Chapter 22

Legolas stood upon the windswept southern spur of the mountain, beside the elite of his father's guards. He, like his comrades, was clad in the elven armor of Mirkwood; a shining breastplate etched with the designs of twining vines and leaves, and a helmet that glistened in the dark, covering his hair, and much of his face. The hilt of a slender sword rested within his hand as he watched the darkened sky swirling above them, and drawing ominously closer. He glanced down at the shimmer of the blade he held within his hand. He would have preferred the feel of his bow within his hand, or the hafts of his knives. But he was the king's son, and his kin looked to him to lead the charge into the midst of the fray. His bow he still carried upon his back, as well as a quiverful of arrows, and his knives, if the time were to come when he would need them.

A heaviness settled within his stomach as he gazed over the lands before the Mountain's feet. The land itself seemed to be crawling toward them with a thick multitude of dark, surging bodies, countless banners, red and black, as their hordes came on in seething, heedless disorder. Orcs, the hideous slime of Morgoth, and their snarling, rabid wargs. They were as yet far distant, but his fingers instinctively tightened about the hilt of his weapon.

"Uh, m'lord er, um, Sir Elvenprince?" A small voice chirped at his side as Bilbo the Hobbit , pointed off the steep mountain spur and across the vast span of air that hung between them and their foes as the dark bodies of their enemies swirled like a fierce eddying current, round the spur's end, and came lunging into Dale. "Your eyes are sharp, aren't they? What do the goblins got coming at the front of their vanguard?"

"Wolf-riders," Legolas answered in a soft hiss. He glanced down at the small shivering Hobbit, who held the small sword he called Sting within one hand, and offered him a sad look, void of comfort. "The swiftest." The Hobbit gulped, and pityingly, Legolas offered him a slim smile. "And to my friends, I am called Legolas."

And as he spoke, the air across the distance between them, was rent with their howls and warbling cries.

From his vantage point, Legolas could see a thin line of Men strung before the forerunners of the orcs, meaning to make a feint of resistance, and as the howling wargs rapidly devoured the distance before them, Legolas clapped a hand upon Bilbo's tiny shoulder, and pointed.

A small gasp and a muttered curse broke from the Hobbit's lips as the surging line of wargs struck the slender line that the Men held, followed a moment later by the echoing crash of their impact, as the booming crash of thunder swiftly follows upon the heels of a lightening flash. Cries of men, and wild howls of great wolves echoed up from the valley as the line wavered, and then broke. Bard's kin, those who had not been torn in their teeth, or crushed beneath the feet of the wargs, fled one way and the other up toward the spurs of the Mountain, and the great wargs, their shrieking masters upon their backs, surged into the valley, as the rest of the howling goblin army came rushing in after them.

"Bilbo," Legolas breathed, feeling the young Hobbit's shoulder shiver beneath his hand as they watched the army coming, "your presence in this battle is not needed. If you wish, you can fall back-," his words cut short in surprise as he looked down, seeking the small Hobbit, to find his place empty. But his hand still felt cloth beneath it, and a bony shivering shoulder beneath that. Furrowing his brows in disbelief, Legolas jerked his hand back, and turned once again to the swirling goblin army that was thick in the valley below them, black and roiling, like a cesspool of boiling ooze. He could waste no more thoughts on little Bilbo.

Glancing behind him at the arches that stood on a higher shelf, watching eagerly for his signal, he raised his sword, and cried in a voice that seemed to ring off the hills, "Fire your arrows!" And the wisp and hiss of bowstrings released, and the whizzing departure of many countless arrows followed.

Away an arching shower of arrows fled, flickering as if they were sparks of fire, to fall stinging and burning into the midst of the goblins. Loud shrieks of pain and warbling cries of fury bubbled up from the orcish army as the arrows fell hissing among them.

"Come, my kinsmen! Let our blades be first to spill the blood of the spawn of Morgoth!" Legolas cried with fury as his voice carried over the lines of elven spearmen. "Charge!"

And as his words echoed and faded off the hills about him, Legolas leaped down from the high ledge of rock upon which he stood, barely pausing as his boots struck the slanting earth, and with ever increasing swiftness, he flew down the steep slope of the spur, with a tide of Mirkwood Elves surging down the hill at his back.

Closer drew the hunched, snarling shapes of the orcs, their black bladed weapons, brandished in their clawed hands. Their eyes shone in the gathering darkness with a light that was cold and fierce, their green lips drawn back from teeth cruel and sharp as the nearest goblins among them hopped and scrambled forward eagerly to engage the descending Elves. Legolas' eyes locked upon the foremost orc, a thick limbed and brawny beast, wielding a massive scimitar with a cruel, serrated blade. Its eyes found his as well, and the creature grinned, a hideous bloodthirsty grin, green lips peeling back from ragged teeth. For a moment Legolas felt a twinge of fear, an urge to hold back, but then as quickly, the thought of Lalaith's soulful, haunting eyes filtered across his memory, and his courage returned in a nearly overpowering wave. This was for her.

Legolas lifted his blade, and with an echoing shout, the lines of orcs and Elves collided.

His footsteps echoed eerily in the long, torch lit corridor as Haldir paced one way and then the other glancing up once again at the oaken door beyond where Lalaith lay beneath the ministrations of the queen, and several of healers. His body was somewhere beyond exhaustion, but he did not feel it. His knees felt weak, his stomach sick. A carven chair sat beside the door for him, but to remain still, he could not do. His nerves were fraught and ragged. It had been hours since he had lain Lalaith upon the narrow bed within the small room, then bidden to wait in the hall while the queen and the matron healers, tight lipped, and somber, prepared to administer to the stricken maiden.

His patience had worn thin long before, but Haldir's repeated knocking had gone unanswered, and so he resorted to pacing in his anxiety and fear. How was she? Was there hope for her? Was she even yet alive? None of the questions found answers, though they ricocheted about in his brain like angry wasps.

Crushing his teeth together in his frustration, he cast an angry eye at the oaken door as if it were the source of his ire.

"Cursed Mirkwood Elves, and their abominable arrogance," he grumbled, running his fingers through his hair as he had, uncounted times in the past hours. "Were this Lórien, I would not be relegated to the lowest rungs like mere rabble, doomed to wait out here for word of her condition, as if she means nothing to me. Is it because they think _him_ more worthy of her?"

This thought burned through his brain, and Haldir curled in his fists until his knuckles crackled. His jaw clenched as he stormed toward the door, his patience exhausted, determined to pound upon the door until his request for admittance was answered, or until he had reduced the vile barrier to gristmill sized particles.

He was but a step away from the door, when it uttered a squeak of protest and began to draw open. Haldir's hands fell to his sides as he looked up. The queen appeared, her golden hair drawn back from her face in a loose knot, her eyes red and her face drawn down in exhaustion. She cast a cursory glance at him, taking in his hair loose and wild from his hands running through it too many times, his eyes fatigued and red, and his pleading gaze.

"I had wondered if you would still be out here," she sighed.

"Surely you know I will not leave until I know how she is," he asked, his voice barely concealing his deep ire.

"It is too soon to say," the lady muttered, running a finger over her furrowed brow. "Perhaps it would be good for you, if you took some rest. I will send you word if there is any change."

She set her hand upon the latch, but paused as Haldir's hand fell upon her own.

"Please, my lady, you must understand," he ground out. "I cannot rest, not with her safety unsure as it is. I want to help her."

Aseaiel clenched her jaw, and a hint of frustration shone through her weary eyes as she muttered, "You would be like a bull, trying to help piece together broken pottery, Haldir of Lórien! If you care for her, you will leave her healing in the hands of those more capable than you."

She pulled her hand away from his, and with a cold look, pushed the door open, only enough for herself to pass through, without giving Haldir a view of the room's interior.

"Please, my lady I beg of you. At least let me be at her side."

At his tone, Aseaiel paused. Bereft of the conceit it had carried before, his voice now bore nothing but raw, fervent pleading.

Legolas' mother glanced back, her red rimmed eyes meeting the Marchwarden's.

"Would you condemn your son to waiting out here, my lady, were he to be in my place?"

"My son is not so presumptuous as to think he can steal from another, something he does not deserve," she breathed softly.

"My lady, please." Haldir's voice was at a near whisper, unaffected by her cold words. "As one who holds Lalaith dear, can you not see that I want simply to be near her, as nothing more than a friend who cares for her, for now?"

Aseaiel glanced at the floor at his pleading words as she pondered his question. Then slowly, she lifted her eyes, studying his red worried gaze for a long moment, before she pushed the door open with a soft creak, and gestured toward the shadowed bed.

Haldir moved into the room with subdued, reverent steps, drawing in a short quick breath as his eyes alighted upon Lalaith. She lay on her chest upon a narrow bed, a linen sheet thrown over her slender body from the middle of her back down to her feet. He could hardly see any of the rest of her through the crush of women gathered about the bed, but her face upon a white pillow, was turned toward his own. Her eyes were closed, her face and lips pale.

"Lalaith," he whispered.

He felt gentle pressure upon his arm, and glanced down to the queen. Her hand had touched his arm as she offered him a sorrowful smile.

Aseaiel sighed at this. "I am sorry, Lord Haldir," she breathed, her eyes speaking volumes that her words did not.

"May I-," he swallowed, hesitant. "May I sit beside her, my lady?"

With a sigh, Aseaiel nodded before she moved away from him, and joined the other women.

"My lady," one of the healers muttered at the queen's approach, "we have drawn out much of the poison, but it is still coming. How much saturated her blood, it is difficult to say."

"Well, we will work until we can draw no more out," Aseaiel returned gently, "and then we must leave the rest in the hands of the Valar."

"It is a fortunate thing, my lady," another healer added in a whisper, "that she was wearing the Lórien Lord's cloak. For that, and her quiver, is what kept the beast's fangs from entering further, and severing her spine."

As she said these sobering words, Haldir crossed the room, pausing at the head of Lalaith's bed, largely ignored by the women who worked over her. Her golden hair was splayed across the pillow where he head rested, slightly damp. At the base of her neck, above her bared shoulder blades, as one of the healers drew away a folded cloth, now saturated with a black substance, were two small, seemingly insignificant puncture wounds, still oozing a mixture of black tar-like poison, and blood. Harsh purple marks, like elongated bruises, trailed out over her otherwise fair skin from the wicked wounds, and Haldir found himself unable to withhold a ragged gasp as he dropped slowly to his knees beside her.

One of Lalaith's hands had fallen over the side of the bed, hanging limply, her slender fingers trailing near the stone floor. Haldir studied it for a long moment, her long smooth arm clean and slender, as pale as her face. At last, he reached out, lifting her cold, unresponsive hand into his own, cradling it as if it were a jewel of infinitely precious worth. With his other hand, he slowly traced the slender lines of her limp fingers, wondering how it could be to hold this hand as it responded to his touch, and returned an answering squeeze.

"Lalaith-," he whispered again, pressing a kiss against her cold knuckles, and drawing closer to her bed, enough so that his shoulder touched her bed linens, and his face rested beside her own. "Come back, please. Come back to me."

Beside him, one of the women healers glanced down at him, but at a gentle look from the queen's soft eyes, said nothing.

"Lalaith, do not be afraid." Haldir continued to whisper. "I am here. I will not leave until you wake."

Not until now did Haldir realize how drained he was. His emotions and his fear had thoroughly depleted him. Here, beside Lalaith, with her hand in his, he found himself, and he was content. Pressing another kiss to her knuckles, he reached out to her, touched her face gently, and with his head resting beside hers, his breath mingled with her shallow breathing, and he faded into the realm of his dreams.


	23. Chapter 23

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 23**

**February 13, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

Chapter 23

The sounds of battle raged in his ears as Legolas, his armor bloodied, his helmet having been torn away in the battle several hours before, sidestepped the slashing axe edge of his snarling goblin foe before he sliced the blade of one of his knives through the creature's thick gullet. The creature stiffened, with a wail cut short in a gurgle of death. It fell twitching, only to be hurdled by another hunched creature, screaming its wrath at Legolas as it came, whirling a heavy scimitar above its head. Its blade came crashing down, cutting through the air with a hiss as it rang with a harsh metallic scrape, and a scattering of sparks, against Legolas' crossed knife blades he had lifted above his head in the last moment. The blow forced the elven prince down to one knee. His enemy grinned, sensing its advantage now, and Legolas wished vainly, for the sword he had lost, shattered long before, against the iron collar of an orc.

"Legolas!" He could hear Elrohir's cry of alarm from somewhere nearby, but the son of Elrond could do nothing to reach his friend, engaged in a death struggle of his own, with a fearsome, one-eyed warg, with blood matted fur, slather spurting forth from between its ragged jaws. The rabid beast had Elrohir trapped against a high outcropping of rocks, and only Elrohir's bright bladed sword kept the beast at bay.

Putting all its weight behind its scimitar, the seething goblin pressed down, forcing Legolas to bear the weight of its anger upon the blades of his white knives as the goblin's black blade drew closer to Legolas' face. The massive goblin's breath fumed through its grinning, uneven teeth, reeking of death and rot as its blade pressed closer toward Legolas' face.

But then, inexplicably, the creature shrieked in sudden terror and pain, staggering back from Legolas, giving him respite from their duel. Legolas leaped to his feet, his eyes fixing with fascination upon a wound that opened, as if sliced there by the air itself, in the creature's belly. The wound grew, slicing across the goblin's abdomen. Legolas stood, his chest heaving, his eyes fixed in wondering awe as thick blood, sticky and black, spilled from the wound that had been torn by nothing. With a low groan, the creature toppled forward onto its face like a felled tree, and did not move again.

"All right then, Legolas?" a small voice chirped from nearby. A voice that sounded much like Bilbo the Hobbit's voice. "Well then," Bilbo's voice came again, followed by a short huff, as one clearing his throat, "I'm off to see what I can do about that dirty old dog that's got your friend trapped. Good luck."

Tiny feet unseen, scampered away, and Legolas followed the sound with his eyes, though he could not see its source. All he could see was the melee in which he and his father, and Elrohir, with others of the Mirkwood Elves had been caught, pressed up against the southern arm of the Mountain by the screeching goblins and howling wargs that swirled in the valley, clambering up the slopes at them with blood-hungry eyes. Warbling screeches echoed down from the heights of the mountain above, as more goblins came scaling over the rills of the mountain like so many black armored beetles in a rush so swift, that here and there an orc fell screaming from the cliffs. The losses of a few of their fellows did nothing to slow the reckless rush of the others as the mass of screaming beasts lurched down the mountain like an ooze of black mould, toward the great spurs to attack the Elves, and the Men and Dwarves from behind.

His heart grew black in his chest. There were not enough of them to stem the tide of the enemy from all sides.

An unearthly screech behind him drew his attention away from the horde streaming down from above and he turned, ducking as a large bat, ragged-winged, its eyes red, and sharp teeth like small needles protruding from its razored jaws, swooped over his head, hissing and spitting as it missed its strike. It turned, wheeling in the air with a wild howl as it made another dive at him. But this time, one of his knives caught it across a leathery wing, slashing sinew and cracking bone as the flying beast spun flailing into the ground. The wailing creature struck with a thud, and staggered up upon its clawed talons, hissing its furry at Legolas before one of his white knives flashed out, and sliced through the creature's body, pinning it to the ground.

Legolas gasped, wrenching his knife out of the earth, and flinging the twitching bat carcass from the blade before his eyes shot up again toward the mountain where the host of the goblins poured downward toward the spurs in a rushing black tide.

He drew in a long ragged breath. There were too many, he admitted to himself beneath the blackened sky, listening to the furious sounds of battle that raged around him, and the growing screeches of the goblins that rumbled ever closer. A wave of bitter acceptance washed over him. Their alliance with Bard and his Men and the Dwarves of the Iron Hills had only held back the vile tide for a moment, but their effort had been as futile as trying to hold back an encroaching storm. He would not see Lalaith again, not on this side of the Great Sea. And he would never know if she returned his love. He would never realize the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her mouth beneath his own, or the ecstasy of her touch.

The warbling screams grew ever closer, and Legolas tightened his jaw, gripping the hafts of his knives with renewed strength. Though there was no hope, he would not be slain without fighting to his last breath.

Suddenly, there was a great shout, and from the gate above, came a trumpet call.

Thorin! His mind suddenly cried, and a great breath of hope rose in his chest. They had forgotten Thorin, and his Dwarves. His eyes lifted to the wall of Thorin's stronghold, just as it fell outward, with a crash, and out of the shadows, leapt the King under the Mountain, Thorin, and his Dwarves. Clad in shining armor they were, their countenances grim, with fire in their eyes, and their king at their head. And in the gloom and the dark, the Dwarf Thorin, gleamed like gold.

Haldir sat crumpled beside Lalaith's sickbed, unaware of all that passed around him, sleeping the sleep of one emotionally exhausted. His head rested against the side of her bed, her limp hand still clasped in his own against his chest. And as his thumb unconsciously brushed over her cold, unresponsive fingers, he dreamed.

The golden Mallyrn of Lórien once again surrounded him as he walked beneath their bright boughs upon a path he knew well. The clatter of water filled his ears as his path drew nearer to its end. And at last a wall of tumbled stones appeared, down which a small waterfall poured into a pool as blue and clear as a sapphire.

A maiden clad in a soft white gown sat upon the sandy edge of the shining pool, her back to Haldir, her golden hair spilling to her slender waist as the soft breeze that filtered through the glade caught it, and teased it about. One hand reached out over the water, dancing lightly across the surface and creating shimmering delicate ripples as it went. Haldir's eyes trailed adoringly over her, and though he could not see her face, he knew he loved her.

She had not heard his approach, for she did not turn at his appearance. So smiling, he stole softly up behind her, knelt at her back, and reaching from behind, softly covered her eyes with his hands.

"_Guess who_?" he murmured, his lips lightly brushing the delicate peak of her ear.

The maiden laughed softly at this. "_I need not guess_," she whispered with a smile in her voice. "_It could be no other, but you, Haldir._"

With these words, she turned to him with a soft flurry of skirts, her mouth finding his in an eager kiss as her fingers trailed up and through his hair. His own arms slipped about her waist, drawing her slender body against his own as he eagerly returned the hungry caresses of her moist mouth.

"_Haldir_," the maiden gasped, drawing back, though her mouth lingered against his own, "_How I have pleaded to the Valar for this. To meet you like this, even if only in a dream._"

"_I have always been yours, even before I knew I was_," he returned, teasing her mouth with a brush of his lips as he spoke. "_I could never love any other. No other but you, Loth_-,"

He paused at the name he had almost spoken. Why had he nearly just said-? Curious, he drew in a breath, and began to draw back so that he could, for the first time, take in the details of his beloved's face.

"Arwen? _Arwen! Arwen!_"

His dreamscape vanished like a puff of mist upon a wind at the weakened, frightened voice that had drawn him from sleep.

"Lalaith?" he gasped. His weariness vanished as he scrambled to his knees, and turned to see Elrond's ward struggling to sit up upon her sick bed, swaying slightly as if still weak. Her face was flushed with consternation and confusion as she lifted her free hand as if with great effort, and gazed at the fierce trembling of her fingers as she turned her hand over before her eyes. At last her hand flopped back to the bed as if burdened with a heavy weight. She lifted her gaze then, her slightly accusatory eyes flashing over his own. She wore naught but a light shift beneath the thin sheet, and at this realization, Haldir dropped her hand, his eyes darted swiftly away as he rose to his feet, turning from her.

"What? Haldir? Where am I?" she asked quietly. "What has happened?"

"Do you not remember the spiders?" he asked, gazing at the wall where candles, burning low, flickered within wrought candlesticks, casting mottled shadows against the walls.

"Spiders?" she breathed. Her voice was small. "Oh-," her voice grew all the more quiet. "In the forest. I was-, bitten."

Haldir heard the soft rustle of cloth, and half glanced over his shoulder to see her settling back upon the pillows. She lay on her side, her back turned to him, the neck of her shift partially exposing her slender shoulder blades as well as the back of her neck where the spider had struck, a white bandage fixed across her wound.

"You saved me," she murmured softly to the air. "I am in your debt, now."

"No," he muttered, softly shaking his head, and crossing his arms over his chest as he turned away facing the wall once again, "the queen and the healers saved you, Lalaith. I only carried you back."

"You slew the second spider," she countered softly, though her voice was insistent. "The one that bit me. Had you not come when you did, I would be dead. I owe you my life."

"I was glad to do it, Lalaith," Haldir returned. "You owe me nothing."

Lalaith sighed as if she were about to respond, when the door squeaked open.

"Lalaith!" A breathless voice burst from the doorway in a tone of breathless delight as the queen with several of her maids behind her, rushed into the room.

"Oh, my dear Lalaith." Aseaiel repeated, her voice thickening with emotion as she darted past Haldir, and seated herself at the edge of the maiden's bed, catching up her hand, and and touching the maiden's head with a motherly carress. "You are awake. At last. How do you feel?"

"Well enough, your highness." Lalaith sighed, a note of happy relief entering her voice. "Very weak, though. My limbs are heavy. And my neck is tight and sore-,"

"It will pass." Aseaiel soothed. "Though you will remain weak for many days. So it will be best if you stayed abed, until your strength returns."

Haldir, his back to the bed, tightened his jaw and glanced at the floor, for the queen spoke to the maiden as if to her own daughter. Aseaiel was no fool. She knew why he was here, and what he wanted. And she was determined that he would not achieve what he sought.

"Yes, my lady." Lalaith returned in a softened voice.

"Haldir of Lórien?"

He turned his head at the queen's voice, though not quite glancing at her where she sat at Lalaith's side.

"You may go now," she said, a gentle smile behind her voice. "You have stayed faithfully at Lalaith's side all this time, and I do not doubt but that rest would do you good."

This time, Haldir did not argue. He had no reason to. Lalaith was beyond the danger, and it would be best for her now, if she stayed in the queen's care. His duty to Lalaith was fulfilled.

"Yes, my lady." He nodded with a stiff bob of his head, and, without turning, he strode out the door, and into the flickering light of the torchlit corridor.


	24. Chapter 24

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 24**

**February 16, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

Chapter 24

Dark and hideous, the corpses of wargs and goblins littered the valley of Dale while here and there, a brighter spot of color, where a Dwarf or Man, or Elf lay where he had fallen. Over these, swarmed the bloodhungry ranks of the enemy, pounding, like waves against sifting hills of sand, upon a great ring of warriors, Thorin among them, that had driven down the Mountain like the wedge of a great axe into the ranks of the enemy. Swift had been Thorin's charge, and fearless had been his cry as he and his Dwarves drove into the ranks of the enemy, many Elves and Men trailing with them. But their charge had been too swift and too far, and their numbers too few. Goblins and wargs returning to the assault had cut off their escape. And now, Thorin and those with him were trapped, surrounded by shrieking goblins and howling wolves baying for their blood.

Upon the steeps of Ravenhill, Legolas could see many of his kinsfolk, and others of the Men of the Lake among those that had followed after Thorin. But neither he, nor the Elves that stood with him could do anything to reach their kinsfolk, for now, the seething muck of goblins and their ilk, came crashing against the Mountain's edge, with renewed force.

No sooner would he cut down one wailing goblin, but another would come, or a snapping, slathering wolf, throwing it weight against him in a shrieking rage. Here and there among those he fought beside, one of his kinsmen would fall beneath the rage of their enemies, like sand sluffing off from a cliff beaten continually by a fierce storm. It had been too long since he had seen Elrohir, and he feared that his friend was one of those who had fallen. Where was his father, and Gandalf? He feared the answer, but he could not turn his head to search for them. For up the slope, its black blade whirling wickedly above its head, came a snarling goblin, its red eyes piercing him through as it rushed at him.

Far to the west, the black clouds that had lain a heavy veil over the face of the sky were torn suddenly by the wind, and a knife blade of red light sliced through the darkness, stopping the goblin in its charge. It glanced toward the west with a huff of surprise just as the blade of reddened sunlight slashed across the spur upon which they stood, and across its eyes.

Uttering a howl of pained rage, the great goblin threw up one futile hand, and staggered back as if stricken.

"The eagles! The eagles!" A small voice, Bilbo's, he was sure, came from nearby, high and close. "The eagles are coming!"

Legolas raised his eyes, seeking through the gleam that washed over Ravenhill, and as surely as Bilbo had cried, dark shapes, small against the distant glow of the sun, took shape. Many shapes against the reddening sky were coming down the wind, line upon line in as great a host as the black undulating cloud of bats had come, though these beings flew with a smooth grace, their wings beating with gentle strength against the wind upon which they rode.

"The Eagles! The Eagles!" Bilbo's hidden voice cried again from somewhere nearby.

"The Eagles are coming!" Legolas shouted, taking up the cry, and many more voices of Elves and Men, followed his, the cry growing into a shout of victory across the spurs of the Mountain.

As the hopeful echoing cry reverberated across the mountainside, the goblins recoiled, their faces darting about in sudden fear, and many started in a scampering, disordered retreat, back toward the valley. The goblin that stood before Legolas, though, remained undaunted, its glance darting from the sky to Legolas as its red eyes glowered with hatred.

Renewing its effort, it stomped toward him, raising its great blade above its head, and bringing it down with a reverberating crash and a scraping of sparks upon the tumble of stones where Legolas had stood a moment before. With a snort, its angry eyes darted about searching for him before it lifted its head uttering a great roar of pain when one of Legolas' knives plunged into its side between two of its ribs.

As if the blade had been no more than a bee's sting, the goblin swiveled with a wild snarl, smacking Legolas hard in the chest with the back of its massive hand.

Stunned, Legolas staggered backward several steps before he regained his breath and his wits, only to realize then, that he had left his blade embedded in the monster's body. His bow was upon his back, but he would not be able to draw it before the goblin that raged toward him now, reached him. Tightening his grip upon the one remaining knife within his hand, he drew in a breath of calm, waiting as the goblin stomped nearer.

In the moments before the beast reached him, a high avian screech caused the very air about him to vibrate with the strength of the cry, and Legolas had scarcely looked up before his goblin foe had been plucked effortlessly from off of the mountainside into the claws of a great bird that had swooped so near, that Legolas could feel the brush of air from its feathers, and catch a glimpse of the gold speckled feathers upon its breast. Within its sharp talons, it lifted the thrashing wailing goblin high into the air, the backdraft of its wings creating a pulsing wind that washed the earth around Legolas as its great wings beat rhythmically at the air, carrying the bird and its prey higher and higher against the sundering clouds banked against the reddened sky before it sailed out and over the valley, dropping the great goblin over the surging host of its fellows, where it tumbled flailing through the air to land with a thud that Legolas could hear even from where he stood, crushing a number of other goblins beneath it as it plunged into the earth.

The loss of his knife was a small concern, now that the slopes of the Mountain spurs were cleared of their foes. For the way now, was open for them to rush to the aide of Thorin, and those who had followed after him, trapped in the midst of the goblins in the valley.

Legolas slipped his one remaining knife back into its place, and snatching the comfortable weight of his bow eagerly into his hand, he shouted, "To Thorin!"

And with a great shout, the Elves, with the Men of the Long Lake beside them, streamed down the mountainside with Legolas at their head, into the shrieking, bewildered mass of goblins. As he ran, Legolas drew his string to his cheek, waiting until the infinitesimal instant before the armies met. He released the string, his arrow flying true into the throat of a roaring orc, and then, once again, the armies collided.

"Legolas!" A voice amid the shouts and the chaos of battle sounded merrily out of place, and Legolas glanced frantically around until he found the source of the shouting.

Elrohir stood nearby, having only just cut down yet another goblin before he turned his sword upon a snarling warg that came seething and snapping at him. For all the fury of battle, Elrohir seemed fairly cheerful. Other than a smear of black blood across his cheek, he appeared otherwise unhurt.

"Elrohir! I was worried about you!" Legolas cried out, his heart giving a glad leap, for he had seen his father only moments before, near to where Mithrandir still stood, alternately smacking goblin heads with his gnarled wooden staff, and cutting through the creatures with his sword. Now they were all accounted for. "I lost track of you upon the mountain. Where that warg had you trapped."

"Aye, and I was worried about you too, my friend. I was beginning to wonder what I would tell Lalaith." Elrohir laughed back.

"What happened? How did you get safely away from that beast?" Legolas returned as he dodged the swinging axe of a fuming goblin, before snatching an arrow from his quiver and plunging it through the creature's eye. Jerking the shaft free of the sagging beast, he nocked it to the string, and let fly straight into the snapping jaws of a wolf that came lunging at his shoulder.

"I don't know." Elrohir returned. "The beast just dropped dead in front of me. I have no idea how."

"Truly?" Legolas laughed. "What a fortunate puzzle you lack the answers to, then my friend. Answers that perhaps young Bilbo Baggins knows."

"The little _Pherian_?" Elrohir grunted, parrying the furious blow of a particularly determined goblin before swinging his sword into the shrieking creature's abdomen. "How?"

Legolas now was too breathless to answer, for the battle was growing heated and desperate. Even with the help of the Eagles, swooping and diving among them, they were still outnumbered. The goblins were desperate and wild, and were not giving ground as easily as Legolas had first thought. A swaying sea of mottled oily bodies still separated his band from Thorin's company. And already the brave Dwarf king had fallen, overcome by many wicked spear thrusts, and two of his kinsmen who stood near, defending him to the last.

The tireless seething sea of goblins was even beginning to gain back some of the ground they had lost when the Eagles had driven them from the precipices of the mountain. And once again Legolas began to fear for the outcome of the great battle. Even with Thorin's help, and the arrival of the Eagles, it seemed that perhaps the wicked spawn of Morgoth might take the Mountain after all.

But in the moment when his thoughts once again began to grow dark with despair, a noise reverberated through the valley, one which he had not expected to hear. A great roar of anger, and in the midst of the goblins, a great creature appeared, massive in its wrath, rearing upon its hind legs as it batted goblins, puny beneath its great size, this way and that, flipping them through the air as if they were scattering leaves. Its massive frame was carpeted in a great coat of brown fur, its jaws wide with the fury of its roar as it came, and Legolas paused, tipping his head in inquiry. Was that a-, _bear_?

And then he understood. It was the giant, but kindly hearted skin-changer who made his dwelling between the Great River, and Mirkwood, who at times would take the shape of a Man, and at other times, a great bear. Legolas allowed a slim smile of hope to touch his face. For the arrival of Beorn would at last, change the tide of the war.


	25. Chapter 25

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 25**

**February 16, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

Chapter 25

"Legolas."

Elrohir, his armor smeared with black blood, and a long streak of red seeping through a bandage upon his arm, came near, leaping over the mouldering bodies of goblins as he came.

A tone of sadness lingered in the very air about him as Legolas lifted his eyes from the line of fallen Elves he and others of his kinsmen had gathered from among the dead. He glanced at Elrohir who, with a small, sympathetic smile slowed as he drew near and stopped, his own eyes lighting upon the scene that Legolas now turned his eyes back to.

A young Elf lay among the dead, hardly more than a boy he was, and no older than three hundred years. But for the bloody gashes crossing his chest, he could have been mistaken for one who was sleeping. His head was tilted to the side, his sightless eyes reflecting the shimmering crimson light that lingered in the western sky. His youthful face bore a look of such peace that it could only have reflected the serenity he had found at last in Mandos. Legolas mourned for him, for he had known the once outgoing youth, but sadder still he was for the boy's father, who knelt beside his son's body, gently holding his limp hand, his eyes gazing unmoving upon the lad's face.

"Legolas," Elrohir murmured once again, his voice subdued and heavy now as he placed the haft of Legolas' lost knife into his hand. "I found it in-, what was left of the goblin the Eagle plucked off the mountainside."

"Thank you." Legolas muttered in a heavy voice as he hefted the knife's comfortable weight in his hand, and glanced down at the once bloodied weapon, now shining again. Elrohir must have cleaned it off for him, for Legolas could see his somber countenance reflecting in the blade.

"Gandalf sent several of the Men from the Lake to search upon the slope where you told him you had heard Bilbo's voice last." Elrohir added in low tones.

"And?" Legolas ground out, hating the answer he awaited.

"One of the Men found him." Elrohir managed a weak smile. "Weary and wounded, but alive. They took him to the tent where we have lain Thorin."

"Ah, good." Legolas breathed, sheathing his blade beside the other knife upon his back. "Come, my friend." He said in a low voice to Elrohir, nodding at the grieving father who mourned over his son. "Let us leave them alone. None that I care for fell in this battle. I have no right to stay in such a hallowed place."

Elrohir said nothing, but followed behind as the elf prince turned away, and strode across the valley toward a low hillock where a tent had been erected.

His father and Gandalf stood near the tent door, with Dain and Bard beside them. A short distance away, Beorn, still in his bear shape, was lumbering about, tumbling with his great forepaws, the bodies of goblins and wargs toward a growing mound where the Men of the Lake were preparing to set a torch.

Gandalf's face was weary, and his arm lay in a sling. But as Legolas and Elrohir approached, his countenance visibly lifted, and he raised his uninjured hand in greeting.

"Hail, Son of Thranduil!" He greeted in the Common Tongue. "It is good to see you safe."

"And you, Mithrandir." Legolas returned with a widened grin, his eyes trailing over the Dwarf and Man, before returning to his father's eyes. Dain had a cloth wrapped about his head where a spot of blood showed through. And Bard carried a long gash upon the side of his bearded face. Legolas' father was the only other one besides himself, who had gone unscathed.

"I only now left Lhachion, Father." Legolas muttered in the tongue of his birth, knowing the others need not understand.

"And what of his son?" Thranduil asked in a softened voice.

"Aldarohir was dead when we found him."

Thranduil accepted the news with stalwart grace as he swallowed a sudden surge of emotion and nodded his understanding.

"Thank the Valar that I need not take the same news to your mother as Lhachion will, to his wife." Thranduil muttered to the ground. "The poor lad."

Dain and Bard, standing nearby, did not understand the exchange between father and son, though they sensed the weighted, underlying emotion beneath the words. Dain humphed softly beneath his breath leaning heavily upon his great mattock he had set upon the ground, and glanced thoughtfully downward.

At that moment, a flurry in the nearby doorway caused everyone to glance up, and Bilbo came tottering out, his nose as red as a cherry, and his eyes swollen and red. A small blanket he had wrapped about himself, as he shivered in his misery.

"Hullo, Legolas," he muttered in a ragged voice that caught upon his words as he spoke, "it's good to see you're all right, at least."

Wiping his sleeved arm noisily beneath his nose, he glanced at Gandalf, and chokingly managed, "He's gone, now. Thorin is."

With that, he turned, and tottered off down the hillock, his little blanket still wrapped about his shoulders while behind him, Gandalf, with Dain upon his heel, swept through the doorway of the tent to see for themselves the truth of Bilbo's choked words. Elrohir and Bard followed behind Dain, their steps slower and subdued. But Legolas watched after Bilbo as the poor Hobbit staggered away, to slump down at last near the bottom of the hill, and bury his little face into his hands, mumbling softly to himself as he sat.

"My son-,"

Thranduil had been the only other to remain outside the tent at Bilbo's news, and now father and son stood alone before the door.

Legolas glanced at him, surprised to see wetness shimmering in his father's eyes.

"Father?" He inquired, turning to him.

"I-," Thranduil muttered, running a hand over his mouth, "It has never been as easy for me as it is for your mother, to express emotion. You know this but-," he paused again, drawing in a low breath, "this battle, when you lead the charge, not once but several times-," Thranduil gulped hard, visibly composing himself before he continued, "I have never been more fearful for you, nor so proud of you. Not since the day you were born, when I held you for the first time, and listened to you wailing for your mother."

Thranduil chuckled softly, and Legolas joined him as his father tightened his jaw thoughtfully and glanced at the ground. "Less than an hour old you were, and already wise enough to favor her over me."

"That could not have been so, Father." Legolas cajoled gently.

"No, I lack her sympathetic nature. I know I do." Thranduil added as Legolas began to shake his head. "But it is my hope that you understand that I love you no less than she does. You have been all that a father could ask for, my son. You have ever honored me with your valor and your nobility. No father could be more proud of his son than I am, of you."

At these words, Legolas gulped hard, nearly overwhelmed as Thranduil set a hand solidly upon his shoulder, then suddenly drew Legolas close in a warmhearted embrace.

"Elrond's young ward is a wise maiden, my son. I do not doubt but that she sees all that you truly are. Do not fear." Thranduil gruffed at last, drawing back.

"What do you mean by that, _Ada_?" Legolas asked, calling him by the name for him he had not used since he had been a child.

"You know what I mean, Legolas." Thranduil muttered with a smile as he swiftly blinked the moisture from his eyes. "You know."

And at this, Legolas glanced away, his eyes falling upon the Hobbit huddled at the base of the hill. Though in his mind, he could once again see Lalaith's smiling eyes. And in his heart, he understood his father's words.


	26. Chapter 26

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 26**

**February 18, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

Chapter 26

Legolas smiled to himself as the soft murmur of running water beneath the darkened eaves of Mirkwood drew closer. He turned aside his head and traded a bemused expression with Elrohir who rode beside him before the two young Elves cast a backward glance at Beorn, who having taken the shape of a great Man, strode along beside a sturdy pony loaded with two strong wooden chests that were Bilbo's, slung one on each side of its sturdy midsection. Beorn's great mouth, a dark cavern in a face of hair, with but a small space for his twinkling eyes to peek out, was singing.

Deep was his voice, and warm as he sang,

"_Came the news from birds of air,  
>that goblins dark, came from their lair<br>the bleak cold north where black things dwell,  
>with Bolg their chief, so dark and fell. <em>

_Then went I forth, from friends and home  
>to lend my aide, far did I roam,<br>To Lonely Mountain near I strayed  
>Fell goblins, wargs, and Bolg I slayed <em>

_I pulled him down and crushed his bones,  
>Now I return unto my home.<em>"

"_Slayed_?" A small voice that was Bilbo's asked as he rode behind Gandalf, clutching the wizard's grey robes, so that he would not tumble to the ground. "Isn't the word _slew_?"

"Hush there, little one. Else you wish to be _slayed_ yourself." Beorn muttered in a growl of playful annoyance. "It's _my_ song."

At that, a low ripple of grateful laughter echoed along the lines of marching Elves, the sadly decreased numbers much in need of the cheer the light hearted bantering between Beorn and Bilbo gave to them.

"Ah, alas, here our ways must part." Gandalf muttered in a voice filled with regret, and Legolas glanced forward to see the shadowed forest eaves that had been drawing closer, now towered above them, shading the company in cold shadow. And though the road continued under the grey green boughs, following the flow of the river that ran out from beneath Thranduil's palace, here the column of Elves stopped.

"From here, Bilbo and I will go with Beorn, round the northern edge of your forest." Gandalf said with a grunt as he hopped from his borrowed mount, and lifted Bilbo down after him.

Thranduil dismounted, and Legolas leaped down as well, following at his father's shoulder where Gandalf and Bilbo stood beside Beorn whose massive hand rested gently upon the neck of the pony laden with Bilbo's chests.

"Could I not entreat you to visit my halls, if only for a short time Mithrandir?" Thranduil asked.

"Oh, um," Bilbo muttered, clearing his throat as he shuffled his feet. The Hobbit shifted his weight uncomfortably as he glanced down, though he dared not speak, for the question had been directed to Gandalf.

"Ah, perhaps it would be best to decline." Gandalf murmured, glancing down at the shifting Hobbit. "For now that Bolg and his goblins have been crushed, the way is safer. Moreover, our friend Beorn, is going that way."

Bilbo visibly relaxed, at these words of Gandalf's.

"Very well." Thranduil conceded, with a smile and a nod of his head. "Yet you are ever welcome in my realm."

He said this to Gandalf as well as Bilbo and Beorn. Beorn bowed his thanks. And Bilbo bowed as well, muttering, "Thank you very much."

"Farewell! Oh, Elvenking." Gandalf said, with a smile, lifting his voice somewhat, as he offered Thranduil a formal bow. "Merry be the green-wood, while the world is yet young! And merry be all your folk."

"Farewell, oh, Gandalf." Thranduil returned. And he and Legolas both returned Gandalf's bow. "May you ever appear where you are most needed and least expected! The oftener you appear in my halls the better I shall be pleased!"

"Um, um," Bilbo stammered, appearing suddenly agitated as he shifted his weight, and stood upon one stout furry foot, and in his most grave, most formal voice, announced, "I beg of you, to accept this gift!"

Legolas glanced down at the small Hobbit curiously as Bilbo reached inside his coat, and withdrew a necklace of silver and pearls, and a small leather bag, bound at the top with a string of leather. The necklace he held out toward Thranduil.

"In what way have I earned such a gift, O Hobbit?" Thranduil asked, his brow furrowing as he hesitated to take the precious trinket.

"Well, er, I thought, don't you know." Bilbo muttered, his eyes taking on a confused look, "that, er, some little return should be made for your, er, hospitality. I mean even a burglar has his feelings. I have drunk much of your wine and eaten much of your bread."

Thranduil glanced at Legolas, his eyes sparkling, before he shifted his gaze down upon the shuffling Hobbit.

"I will take your gift, O Bilbo the Magnificent!" He declared, keeping his voice staunch and grave as he took the proffered necklace, and offered the Hobbit a stern bow. "And I name you elf-friend and blessed. May your shadow never grow less or stealing would be too easy!" Legolas hid a smirk at these words as his father finished gravely, "Farewell!"

"And for you, sir, er, Legolas." Bilbo muttered with a short bow to Legolas as he held out the small leather bag. "I thought your pretty, lady-friend, Lalaith, might like these."

"I thank you, brave Hobbit." Legolas said with a nod, taking the small bag. It was weighted in his hand, filled with what seemed to be several small stones. Gems, Legolas guessed. But his mind left the small leather bag in his hand as his eyes shot to Bilbo's face.

"How did you know-,"

"Farewell, O noble Elvenprince!" Bilbo practically wailed, and ducked like a child, behind Gandalf's robes.

"Farewell, brave Bilbo," Legolas returned, completely nonplussed. Thranduil had already turned back toward his own mount, but Legolas craned his neck to peek at Bilbo huddling behind Gandalf, and added, "but to you, whom my father has named elf-friend, I am called Legolas. Remember that, when we meet again."

Bilbo ducked his head, and grunted a mumble of assent.

At this, Legolas smiled, then with a glance of farewell at Gandalf, and a nod to Beorn, he turned away, and leapt upon his mount beside Elrohir.

"Farewell, brave Elves of Greenwood!" Gandalf called to the whole column before he and Bilbo with Beorn and the pack pony beside them, turned northward, following along the eaves of the trees as Legolas and Elrohir beside him, followed his father's lead upon the shadowed road into Mirkwood as the trees closed over their heads. He glanced back once before the trees hid the small Hobbit completely from his view, to see Bilbo watching after him, his eyes large. But at Legolas' grin, Bilbo's eyes grew ever larger, and he turned away, ducking his head.

Balancing the dinner tray within one hand, Haldir paused outside one of the many oaken doors along the corridor, one that sat slightly ajar, and rapped lightly upon the smooth wood.

"Come," he heard the soft voice beckon from beyond, and slowly, he pushed the unlatched door ajar, and stepped into the interior of Lalaith's room.

"Ah, Haldir!" Lalaith called out, her face brightening as she struggled to sit up upon the pillows at her back.

Though the room Lalaith lay in was within Thranduil's palace, it was still bright and airy, with the light of the late afternoon sun streaming in through a high window within the stone wall. Through the eddying dust motes that swirled about through the air, a beam of light filtered downward, alighting upon Lalaith where she lay, smiling tiredly at him. The white linen sleeping gown she wore seemed to glow as if it were woven of the fibers of clouds, and he wondered if perhaps any of the Valiër could appear more beautiful.

Haldir stepped near to the head of Lalaith's bed, and smoothed a lock of golden hair away from her face. What lay behind the weary smile that touched her lips, he wondered. What secrets did she carry behind the brightness of her luminescent eyes?

"Haldir?" Lalaith laughed, breaking him from his trance.

"Oh, ah, forgive me." He stuttered as he glanced at the floor.

"Do not apologize. You have no need to." Lalaith assured him with a smile. But Haldir sensed hesitation in her eyes, and deeper still, a touch of reluctance, and even a hint of fear.

"So what did you bring me?"

"A side of roasted venison, with some freshly baked sweet breads, and steamed vegetables." Haldir announced grandly as he set the tray upon a bedside table, and sat upon the edge of the bed beside her.

"More broth you mean?" Lalaith moaned.

Haldir shrugged, and nodded apologetically. "The queen's orders. You're still very weak."

Lifting the silver spoon from its place beside the bowl of broth, he dipped it into the steaming, golden brown soup, and lifted it dripping, before he carefully brought it to her lips.

"Augh, I feel as helpless as an infant." Lalaith grumbled, though she opened her mouth obediently and swallowed the thin soup down. "My limbs feel as heavy as bricks."

"The queen said it would pass, eventually." Haldir assured her, ladling another spoonful to her mouth.

Lalaith gulped the broth down, and another spoonful, before she spoke "Yes, perhaps, when my arms and legs have shriveled to little sticks."

Haldir glanced down at her feet that lay unmoving beneath the sheet.

"Indeed." Haldir muttered, struck with a sudden idea.

Dropping the spoon into the bowl of broth, he retreated to the end of her bed where he lifted the thin coverlet enough to expose her bare feet.

"You have lain abed for days now." Haldir offered as an explanation as he absently stroked her slender ankle with the backs of his curved fingers. "Surely your feet have been aching from lack of movement." At this, he lifted her foot in one hand, and with the other, began to knead the limp muscles, pressing with fingers that bore a gentle touch, in small circles over the soft flesh of her foot's sole.

Lalaith sat up higher though the effort was great, for she was still recovering from the effects of the spider's poison. "Haldir, you are not required-,"

Haldir glanced up at her eyes, smiling gently, though his work did not pause. "Let me do this one thing, for you, Lalaith. It will help your blood flow better in these motionless limbs of yours."

Slowly, Lalaith relented, leaning back upon her pillows, and folding her hands across her stomach as she gazed up at the ceiling. Haldir smiled at her face that grew visibly relaxed as he continued to knead the softening muscles of her feet. It was indeed a pleasant sensation, Lalaith admitted, and she found herself, to her chagrin, imagining Legolas in Haldir's place, his own warm lean fingers running soft circles over the soles of her feet. She smiled at the thought, unaware that Haldir's eyes, upon her face, saw her smile, and he smiled as well, his heart growing warm with renewed hope.

Legolas stood in the stirrups of his mount, and glanced about through the shower of fresh flower petals, and over the crowd of cheering Elves welcoming the column of warriors home as it halted before the great doors that led into his father's halls, and had been thrown wide at the return of the warriors. At the top of the steps, and before the great archway that led into the deeps of Thranduil's fortress, stood Aseaiel, adorned in silver flowing robes, her diadem of mithril crowning her fair head as she beamed like a youthful bride at the approach of her lover. Thranduil grinned at the vision of her, and bounded down off his mount. Legolas too, leapt to the ground, casting one last hopeful glance across the crowd. But where was Lalaith?

"Oh, my Lord Elrohir! Such a relief it is, to see you come safely again to our woods." Chirped a sprightly female voice as Elrohir dismounted from his horse to find himself surrounded by three young maidens eagerly vying for his attention, chirping and cooing over him like so many lively little birds.

Elrond's youngest son smiled broadly at the maidens, trading a few pleasantries with them before he lifted his eyes and glanced at Legolas over the girl's fair heads, giving the Mirkwood Prince a casual shrug with his brows as if such a thing as maidens accosting him was entirely expected, and could not be evaded. For it was his burdensome duty, Elrohir's bemused look said, to humor the fairer sex.

With a purse of his lips, Legolas gave his horse's warm neck a final pat, and turned away as a young groom came to claim the reins. For it would be to no avail to attempt to bring the young lord of Imladris along, surrounded by so many fair maidens as the poor man was.

Already his father was halfway up the steps, entirely unaware that his son who should have been at his shoulder, was nowhere near, for his eyes were focused on no other but Aseaiel.

Dodging the few remaining warriors who had not sifted off into the crowds, he leaped like a young deer up the great stone steps, arriving at his father's side just as Thranduil reached his beaming lady.

"My lady." Thranduil said, his words formal and composed, though his eyes danced at the sight of her.

"My lord." She returned, a pink blush darkening her cheeks. "It is good to see you returned safely."

"Has all been well in our absence?" Thranduil asked, and at this, Aseaiel's glowing eyes faltered for a moment.

Legolas gulped, his heart catching upon a sudden thud. "Mother," he blurted, "where is Lalaith?"

Aseaiel turned her eyes upon Legolas, smiling, though with sympathy.

"She is-, inside, in the halls of healing. She met with a bit of misfortune in the forests, but Hal-"

Without waiting for further words, Legolas darted past his mother, and into the cool shadows of his father's palace. Behind him, the lights and the jubilant noise from the Elves gathered outside became swiftly muted.

"She was bitten." Aseaiel murmured soberly, turning back to Thranduil, whose eyes now, reflected her own worry. "But she will recover. Word was sent by our swiftest messengers to Imladris and Lothlórien, for they would wish to know, as they are her kin."

"As soon we will be her kin as well, I hope." Thranduil said, his grin quickly coming once again, to his face that bore a youthful expression, though it was filled as well with deep wisdom. "He is much like I was, when I courted you, is he not?" Thranduil finished in a low, teasing tone. And at the twinkle that had come again to his eyes, Aseaiel smiled, blushing like a maiden as a silent understanding passed between them.

Many smiling Elves looked on, as the queen, heedless of the many eyes that were watching, threw herself into Thranduil's arms, and kissed her lord boldly on the mouth, amidst laughter, and much applause.

Legolas strode through the bright twisting hallways of his father's palace, unaware of everything beyond his need to find Lalaith, only amplified more now that he had learned of her injury. Within Thranduil's palace, the long hallways and stairways were empty all but the bright flickering of torchlight, for the servants and courtiers had all gone to greet the returning warriors. No sound but the soft patter of his own boots echoed off the walls. So when Legolas reached at last the long corridor where were the healing rooms had been hollowed out of Thranduil's stone caverns, the soft sound of an unmistakably male voice singing softly, came easily into his ears, and made Legolas pause.

He knew the voice, one that made his blood rankle, and his jaw tighten. One of the oaken doors, just beside him, sat slightly ajar, and it was through this door, that the voice came.

Haldir smiled as he watched Lalaith's fair face. Her eyes had grown unfocused, her breathing deepened. What sweet dreams were passing through her mind, he wondered. And was he a part of them?

His work slowly ceased, and with a stray finger, traced the lines of her pert little toes that jerked slightly in reflex to his touch as his finger, feather soft, trailed over them. He smiled and drew his hand back, covering her feet once again, for, admittedly, he was beginning to enjoy his work more perhaps, than he ought.

Sliding again to his place at her side, he reach out, and ran his hand over her sleeping face, feeling the cool touch of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, his heart giving a hopeful thud as she stirred and sighed in her sleep.

She smiled at his touch, turning into it, nuzzling his palm with the warmth of her soft mouth.

_Like Elbereth, she is_. Haldir thought to himself as he studied her face beneath the warm light of the reddening sun that still lighted upon her face. For no other of Ilúvatar's creations could be more fair, or appear as one of the Valar, so flawless. How he wished he could bend low above her, and press a kiss to her sleeping mouth. But no. He wanted their first of such loving touches to be something she willed as well as he.

Instead, he smiled as he caressed his thumb over her soft mouth. And opening his own mouth, he began softly to sing,

_Snow-white, snow-white, O Lady clear,  
>O Queen beyond the Western Seas!<br>O Light to us that wander here  
>Amid the world of woven trees! <em>

_Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!  
>Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!<br>Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee  
>In a far land beyond the Sea. <em>

_O stars that in the Sunless Year  
>With shining hand by her were sown,<br>In windy fields now bright and clear  
>We see your silver blossom blown! <em>

_O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!  
>We still remember, we who dwell<br>In this far land beneath the trees,  
>Thy starlight on the Western Seas.<em>

Haldir drew in a long breath, his eyes gazing upon the sweetly sleeping maiden, before he opened his mouth and finished, his voice softer, and speaking only to himself,

"_Snow-white, Snow-white, O Lady fair,  
>Thy stars shine in Lalaith's gold hair.<br>And as thy stars, her virtues shine,  
>But could I ever make her mine,<em>"

Within the realm of her dreams, Lalaith began to smile as at a sweet vision only she could see.

But the sweet tranquility of the moment was shattered when the door behind him swung open with such strength that it struck against the stone wall and swung slightly back, quivering.

"What are _you_ doing here?" A harsh voice demanded, one well known to him, that made Haldir's jaw tighten, and his blood grow heated with envy and resentment.


	27. Chapter 27

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 27**

**February 19, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

Chapter 27

Haldir rose from the side of Lalaith's bed, and turned slowly to eye Thranduil's son who stood glowering within the open doorway. Legolas' hands were clenched into fists, his eyes broiling with dark fury within his scowl hardened face.

"Ah, so the princeling returns in victorious triumph." Haldir muttered in a smooth voice as he strode near enough to flick a small flower petal from Legolas' stern shoulder. "You must be well pleased with yourself, I trust? For glory and treasure are what you abandoned Lalaith to go after, were they not?"

"What are you doing here, _Marchwarden_?" Legolas demanded, his voice seething from his lips in a soft warning hiss.

"What do you think, your _highness_?" Haldir returned, answering the challenge as he too drew a step forward. "Watching after Lalaith while you are off seeking after a pile of dead stones!"

Legolas' eyes narrowed at this, and he seethed with a half sneer, "Clearly, your watch is somewhat more deficient than you would wish to admit. Have the Lady and Lord of the Golden Wood been informed of your faulty care of their kinswoman?"

"Your mother has sent them word." Haldir murmured smoothly.

Legolas' eyes narrowed at Haldir's caustic tone behind his smooth words before his gaze fell to the sleeping maiden half concealed behind Haldir, and much of the ire in his eyes melted into worry.

"What happened to her?" He asked, the anger in his voice fading swiftly away.

"Spider bite." Haldir returned, his voice a near mumble, for Legolas' accusatory words had struck home.

At these words, Legolas' eyes grew desperate with alarm, and he shoved roughly past the Lórien Elf, and dropped swiftly upon the side of the bed where Haldir had been seated moments before. He snatched up one of her motionless hand, cupping it between his own, before he turned, and lifted his eyes.

"H-how?" Legolas' voice was suddenly a fervent plea.

"We were in the wood, beyond the bridge on a narrow path. She drew ahead of me-," Haldir gulped, remembering the details of that day, but feeling no inclination to divulge them.

"How could you be so careless as to allow her beyond your sight?" Legolas barked suddenly, dropping her hand, and shooting to his feet. "You know these woods are not as Lórien-,"

"Indeed, you are right, my lord. They are not." Haldir smirked, with a twist of his lips that cut off Legolas' words, and made his blood boil in his veins. "Not at all like the bright Golden Wood, is this dark and unholy place."

Legolas glowered with heat in his gaze that could have melted steel.

"Such a maiden as Lalaith does not belong in such a dismal wood as this." Haldir sneered, and though he felt a warning tug within his mind, he did not stop himself, for the glare of growing rage upon the haughty young princeling's face brought greater satisfaction than he had expected. "She belongs in Lothlórien. For the brightness of the Golden Mallyrn and the beauty of our fair Lalaith complement each other, do you not agree?"

At this, Legolas tightened his jaw, and he snatched the scruff of Haldir's tunic, glaring at the Lórien Elf across the small space of air between them. Studying Haldir's confident sneer, Legolas fumed, "You cannot win."

"Can't I?" Haldir breathed smoothly, with a low chuckle. "Listen to my laughter, you conceited princeling."

Legolas' eyes narrowed as he seethed in a low, heated voice, "You thieving, arrogant son of orcs-,"

"_Legolas_!" The voice that cried out in alarm and shock brought both their heads to turn toward Lalaith where she had awoken, and now sat up, wavering upon her bed, her gaze filled with awe and shock as her eyes darted between the two men. Legolas shoved Haldir back, though his fuming glare did not lessen.

"What are you doing?" She cried, scrambling desperately out of bed, only to tumble in a weakened heap upon the floor just as a new figure came darting through the door.

Elrohir paused, and his widened eyes flashed between the three of them in frightened shock as his breath came in quick bursts. Having just heard the news that his young cousin had been injured, he had run the whole way. And now, finding the Marchwarden of Lórien and the Prince of Mirkwood standing toe to toe and glowering at one another as if they were near to blows, with Lalaith collapsed in a heap beside her bed, Elrohir's shock was only added upon.

"Legolas, why-," he began, only to turn to Haldir, "what hap-," he shook his head, threw up his hands, and darted at last to Lalaith, gathering her gently up in his arms, like a child.

"Come, Lalaith." He muttered gently, setting her upon the rumpled sheets of her bed. "Are you alright?"

"_I_ am." She answered in a shaking voice, as her eyes surveyed Legolas with a hardened glare.

Covertly, Haldir glanced at Legolas beneath Lalaith's disapproving look. He meant to flash the defeated princely brat a sneer of victory, but Legolas did not notice. His head was turned downward, his eyes focused upon the floor with such an expression of hopeless defeat upon his sorrowing countenance that Haldir's proud victory suddenly felt hollow.

A stab of regret and guilt gripped him just as two more figures arm in arm, stepped with more sedate calm than Elrohir had, through the doorway.

Haldir gulped at the appearance of the king and queen, and straightened his posture, realizing painfully , that his rank was hopelessly below that of his rival's. Surely now, Legolas would flout his royal privileges, and see to it that Haldir met with a stern reprimand.

"Lalaith, my dear, are you hurt? What happened?" Aseaiel called out in a lightened tone though her voice shook as she strode across the room.

"I-, tried to stand." Lalaith cut in swiftly.

"Oh, Lalaith," Aseaiel murmured in a motherly tone, brushing a hand across the maiden's pale brow. "You should rest some few days more."

Haldir shot Legolas a wondering look, for her had been certain that Legolas would immediately disclose the Marchwarden's many faults, and exercise his power in rank. But the king's son said nothing.

"No, my lady, please." Lalaith shook her head. "I may not have the strength yet to stand on my feet, but I can sit well enough to ride."

Legolas' eyes took on a silent look of alarm at her words.

"It is time I returned to Lórien, my lady." Lalaith mumbled, forcing the words out past a wrenching pain that suddenly gripped her heart.


	28. Chapter 28

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 28**

**February 20, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

Chapter 28

Though the bright, starry glade was filled with many Elves, their music and laughter filling the air, Legolas felt alone. Bright fires set about the clearing celebrating the return of the Mirkwood warriors, cast sparks heavenward toward the stars, whose bright twinkling only served to increase his loneliness. Smiling faces lit by the dancing light of the fires, chatted merrily as Elves feasted upon the succulent fare spread out over the many tables, or danced within the center of the clearing. Legolas tried diligently to keep his eyes off of the dancing couples, for that, along with the bright glint of the stars overhead, only reminded him more than ever, that Lalaith was gone. Instead, his eyes remained upon the small pouch of jewels in his hand that he, in his distress at her leaving so soon, had forgotten to give her.

"Your thoughts are troubling you, my son."

Legolas glanced up quickly. So occupied was he with his own misery, that he had not heard anyone coming.

"Would you speak of your pains with me?" His mother continued as she drew near, her eyes studying her son with gentle pity.

"Is it not clear, what troubles me?" He asked, not unkindly, though his words were stilted.

"Only a fool would not know." Aseaiel sighed, dropping down upon the gnarled root where Legolas sat alone, and morose. Her hand, small and soft, touched his shoulder, and Legolas moved into her embrace as he had since he was a small child and sought comfort. "You are languishing over Lalaith's departure."

"I could not control my anger, and said harsh words to Haldir that I should have bitten back." Legolas grumbled, dropping his eyes, and wishing the bright merry music to which the couples danced in the glade, would come to an end, for the cheerful notes did not match his melancholy mood.

Legolas sighed, miserable in his hopeless thoughts. "And for that, I fear I've lost her. She is gone. With him."

"Legolas!" Aseaiel protested, running a finger down her son's smooth cheek. "Lalaith is a wise maiden, and one who bears a kind heart. She is not one who seeks to feed her vanity by watching men fight over her, for she cares very much, for you both. That is, perhaps, why she chose to leave so quickly after your return. She meant to protect you and Lórien's Marchwarden from-," Aseaiel paused and smirked softly, "each other."

At these words, Legolas' brow furrowed, but he said nothing.

"And leaving with him and Lord Elrond's son as her escorts, does not mean that she has cast you aside." Aseaiel continued. "She is as easily able to forgive you of your small faults, as you are able to forgive her of hers."

"But she is gone now." Legolas sighed. "And I miss her. And all the words I wanted to say to her, have gone unsaid. How will I live for all the rest of the ages, if I can never even let her know? What if Haldir claims her love before I have that chance?"

"She cannot give her heart to Haldir, my son, for she has already lost it to another." Aseaiel sighed.

Legolas' eyes shot up at his mother's words. "What?" He demanded breathlessly. "Has she-,"

"No, she has said nothing. But she does not need to." Aseaiel soothed gently. "I can see beyond her eyes, my son. I see her woman's heart. Though she may not know it herself, her heart, as yours, was given, long ago." Aseaiel smiled softly, seeing a glimmer of hope return once again to Legolas' eyes. "Do not accept defeat so easily, for she would not wish it."

She glanced down at the small pouch he still held within his hand, and holding out a hand, asked, "May I?"

Legolas inclined his head, and lay the small bag in her hands.

With a gentle tug, she loosened the top, and six small gems clinked softly together as they rolled onto her palm.

"Lovely." Aseaiel murmured softly. "Sapphires, diamonds, and emeralds. Two of each. From the little Pherian?"

"He said it was a gift for Lalaith."

"Mm." Aseaiel smiled, and drew in a deep breath of the cool night air that surrounded them as she slipped the jewels back into the leather bag, and returned it to Legolas' hands. "Then perhaps, you should take it to her."

Lalaith sighed, falling once more back into her chair beside Arwen as the last strains of music filtered away. Much of the meal before her had remained untouched, for though her strength was swiftly returning, she still felt weak. And now, after the rather lively dance steps that Rumil had led her through on the dance floor, she was unsure she could even crawl back to her own flet. Her legs were shivering slightly now from the strain, and she glanced up, feeling her cousin's sympathetic eyes upon her.

"You seem weary." Arwen sighed, touching Lalaith's hand. "Do you need to rest? I would be happy to walk with you back to our chambers, if you wish."

"I will be fine." Lalaith assured her, then added with a smile, "As long as I am not required to dance any more." She turned her eyes and glanced out the doors that led to the night shadowed balcony. Perhaps if she went out there into the cool night air, and caught her breath, she would feel better.

She stood up, casting a side glance at Haldir where he sat across the hall from her. But his eyes were not on her. He had hardly looked at her all evening, and he had not even attempted to dance with her. At the moment, he was standing, lingering near the spot where Lothirien stood, clad in an unadorned serving maid's gown. The two seemed to be emerged in deep conversation, and Lalaith smiled to herself. Perhaps Haldir was coming to his senses about Lothirien at last.

Releasing a short sigh, Lalaith turned away from the table, and walked slowly out through the great fluted doors, thrown wide to the night air, and onto the wide veranda. The night was dark, and pleasantly cool as she made her way to the balustrade and leaned her hands upon it the cool, smooth metal. A gentle wind that filtered through the high branches of the Mallyrn teased through her hair, and she smiled softly and closed her eyes, wishing she were still in Legolas' wood with him. But she could not have stayed. Not when she had woken to find Haldir and Legolas near to ripping each other apart, as they were.

The thought still infuriated her, even now. Haldir behaving arrogantly, she could understand. But why Legolas? He had no need to act in so irrational a manner. Whatever could it have been, that had set them so at odds with each other? She shook her head, not caring to know the answer.

Haldir had seen her go out of the corner of his eye, and the smile upon his face fell, and the account of his adventures in Mirkwood that he had been relating to Lothirien faded from his lips.

"I dare not look," he muttered to Lothirien in a hissing whisper. "Has she left?"

Lothirien's fair, gentle eyes that had been bright with wonder as she eagerly devoured the tale of his journey, seemed to fall at this, and her once bright smile failed.

"She's gone. Out on the veranda." Lothirien murmured, lowering her eyes meekly.

Haldir's brows furrowed at the sadness obvious within her voice, and he touched her hand gently, forgetting Lalaith for the moment. "Lothirien?" He urged.

"Forgive me." She sighed, rallying as she lifted her eyes to his. "I simply missed you while you were gone." She smiled bravely. "But think no more on me." She nodded toward the doors that led out into the cool shadows of the night. "Go to her."

Haldir grinned at her, and nodded a farewell. _The Valar bless her_. Haldir thought to himself as turned away. No questions, nothing to keep him from this moment with Lalaith. She had simply nodded her blessing to him, and allowed him to depart.

He made his way across the room, unaware of Lothirien's eyes ever upon his back, lingering upon him as he crossed the threshold, and found himself enveloped in a breeze that washed across the veranda, smelling sweetly of distant blossoms. He lifted his brows and smirked to himself, remembering the dark shadows of Mirkwood, and the hint of age and mould that the wind carried upon it whenever a breeze managed to filter its way through the thick of those knotted grey trees. Such a place, Legolas could not hope to bring a bride like Lalaith. Surely Lalaith preferred this wood to Legolas' realm.

With that thought, he glanced about, to see Lalaith at last, standing, her smooth white hands upon the balustrade, gazing out over the darkened city. Above them, the branches of the Mallorn upon which the great hall was perched, disappeared into darkness. And below them, night washed the ground, hiding it in gentle shadows.

Beyond the doors that edged the balcony, the sweet strains of music and cheerful voices echoed from the feast celebrating the return of Lalaith and Elrohir. But here, they were alone.

Lights perched at various levels within the branches of the Mallyrn gave Haldir the sublime sensation that he, and Lalaith with him, existed, within a sphere of stars. And they dwelt here, alone, the soul master and mistress of the universe.

Lalaith's back was turned toward him, she seemed not to notice him, and Haldir paused, bowing his head and gathering his thoughts. His heart pounded within his chest, and he bowed his head, going again over the words he had rehearsed so many times uncounted, in his mind.

Drawing closer with silent steps, Haldir at last reached out, and rested his hand upon her own.

She turned with a small breath of surprise, and upon seeing his face so close to her own, her own eyes lowered, her cheeks flushing with color.

"Haldir, your tread is very light."

"Did I startle you?" he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"A little." Lalaith muttered, a heaviness entering her voice as she tried to draw her hand away. "Perhaps I should return inside,"

"Lalaith, please." Haldir pleaded, keeping his hand firmly enclosing her own. "Could you spare but a few moments? I have a matter of some great importance that I have been meaning to speak of with you, for some time."

"Oh, I-," Lalaith glanced away, and Haldir's heart trembled at the hesitancy in her gaze.

"You have resettled well, since our return yesterday, I trust?" He asked, his words light and trivial as he led her, numbly following, toward a fluted silver bench some distance down the veranda.

"Yes, thank you." She murmured, her words barely above a whisper.

Haldir studied her eyes, bent toward the ground, and he ached to see them gazing into his own.

"There were so many times that I wanted to speak of this to you in Thranduil's kingdom," Haldir gulped, slowing as they reached the long silver bench, "but the chance never came."

Lalaith said nothing, as she fell heavily upon the silver seat, her hands clasped in her lap, with her eyes gazing off and away as Haldir continued to stand before her.

"Lalaith, I-," Haldir gulped as he gazed at her shyly averted eyes. "Have I done something to offend you?"

"Of course not." Lalaith sighed, lifting her eyes to his at last, and offering him a shake of her head. "How could you? After all you have done for me? You saved my life, Haldir. For that, I am eternally in your debt."

"Then Lalaith," Haldir begged, suddenly overcome with longing that he dropped to his knees before her, and caught her hands between both of his own. "Why will you not tell me what heart feels? What is it that I must do to gain your lasting favor? I would do anything."

Lalaith's eyes fell to her lap, and she shut her eyes tightly, feeling the sudden pressure of tears rising to the surface.

"Why will you not give me the answer you know I seek?" Haldir begged. "Why must you draw out the agony for me?"

"If I have done anything to hurt you, I did not mean it," she choked, trying to draw away her hand from his hold, but his own grasp was too tight. "I have no wish to cause you pain, Haldir."

"I know you do not intend to." He returned in a voice that was gentle, yet edged with a ragged pain. "But I would rather you reject me entirely, than to say nothing at all."

Lalaith crushed her eyelids shut. "Haldir, please-,"

"I must know, Lalaith." Haldir's voice suddenly ragged, begged her from beyond the darkness that her clenched eyelids had brought to her in a vain attempt to shut the world out from all that she was.

"I beg of you, tell me if I have any cause to hope." His voice continued, weak with pleading. "I have but to think of you, Lalaith, and I can see no other face. Your image haunts my dreams. I would-, I would make you mine, if I could. My wife. To dwell with me forever, wherever our paths take us."

Lalaith opened her eyes to study Haldir's earnest gaze, hardly realizing that several tears escaped her eyes, shining like many small jewels in the wane light as they trailed wet lines down her smooth cheeks.

"Oh, Lalaith." Haldir's word was only a soft breath of air. He reached out, and caught a tear upon one finger, studying it closely before he brushed it away with his thumb. His heart ached that he had caused such tears. "I love you."

"Haldir, what would you have of me?" She blurted, her eyes pleading with his.

Haldir's heart fairly melted at the soft tones of her question. His first instinct was to beg her to marry him, to give her his promise that any doubts she held, would fade in time. But his heart shrank from the thought. He could only be happy with her as his own, if she wanted him in return.

"I would have you tell me how you feel for me, honestly," He murmured at last. And though his heart ached at the words, it also felt a distant echo of peace, as well as he added, "I would have you follow the path where your heart leads, Lalaith. I want you to be happy. Even if-"

Lalaith's heart shivered at his words as they trailed off. Her eyes dropped again to her hands, and a memory of a day more than a century past, returned to her in a rush. Her heart had been heavy that day, for Lothirien's parents were only recently dead. And she had felt partly to blame. The day she and her cousins left the Golden Wood. Galadriel's farewell words to her, had been almost as Haldir's words were, now.

"_Do not stray from the path where your heart leads, my dear one_." Galadriel had urged, that long ago day. And though Lalaith had not fully understood her meaning, she understood it, now. As much as it tore her heart to reject him, her heart did not lead her to him. There was another face she saw in her mind, another whose touch she hungered to feel. She drew in a breath at this somber realization.

"You are so noble and good, Haldir," she began to speak, hearing her voice almost as if it were the voice of a stranger, "and I am- I am far too fickle and childish to be-, to be anyone's wife. Especially yours." Lalaith moaned, her words coming in little more than sobs now. "How I wish I could spare you this pain, but I cannot give you the answer you seek. It would be unfair to you, and to both of us if I consented to marry you when I-," her breath came out in a ragged sob as she managed to blurt, "when I do not love you in return."

The wretched, raw pain that rippled across Haldir's countenance at these last words that rang of finality, tore Lalaith's heart within her. She could bear his gaze no longer. Tearing her hands from his now weakened hold, she scrambled to her feet, and dashed away, half blinded by her tears, though the high doors that led into the great dining hall.

Clinging to the shadowed corners at the edges of the hall she hurried. She spoke to no one, hoping that none would notice her wiping briskly at her tears as she scurried in her rush toward the open doors that led out and down the steps that twined round the great Mallorn.

But there was one who noticed.

Lothirien saw Lalaith's hurried escape, the tears upon her cheeks, and she guessed with an aching heart, what had just transpired between her dearest friend, and the lady of his hopes.

With hurried but sedate steps, she retraced the path Lalaith had taken, through the doors, and out onto the balcony, silent in the shadows of the night. She saw him immediately, still kneeling before the silver bench where Lalaith must have been sitting only moments before. His back was bent, his head hanging in a forlorn manner.

"Haldir?" she whispered.

He barely turned his head.

"Oh, my dear Haldir." Lothirien choked, rushing to him, and dropping to her knees at his side. "My dearest, Haldir."

She gathered his face into her hands, and studied his misery filled eyes.

"Come." She urged with a tender, encouraging smile. "Come here."

"Thank the Valar for you, Lothirien. My friend." He breathed in a choking voice as her gentle embrace drew him close.

And he needed no more urging as he drew his own arms around her, and buried his face within the soft fragrance of her hair.


	29. Chapter 29

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 29**

**February 20, 2004**  
><em>Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina<em>

Chapter 29

Lalaith walked slowly, her head bent down, as she made her way along the twining path that led down to where Elladan and Elrohir waited with the horses. For they were to ride with her over the mountains, and into Imladris. The gown she wore was woven of thick durable cloth, as was her cloak, plain and unadorned as she drew her soft leather riding gloves upon her hands. She smiled, though only slightly as she lifted her head, and saw through the trees, the path where the horses waited, stamping impatiently at the ground. Elrohir stood near, a gentle hand resting lightly upon the soft muzzles of each horse. Arwen stood with Elladan, embracing him tearfully, for she would not be returning home for a few years, at least. And Galadriel stood by, hand in hand with Celeborn to bid their grandsons and Lalaith farewell.

Lalaith sighed, her heart feeling heavy within her. None knew, but herself, and Haldir, and Lothirien, perhaps, why she was leaving to return to Imladris when she had only just arrived from Mirkwood. But none had questioned her. Though perhaps, by the look within Galadriel's eyes that she had been giving her since she had announced her desire to return home, the Lady of the Golden Wood somehow knew, anyway.

Again Lalaith glanced downward, absently adjusting the belts of her quiver where her knives and bow, and a number of arrows, rested.

"Lalaith." The voice brought her head up, her heart breaking anew at his gentle tones.

"Haldir." She sighed, managing a weak smile as she drew to a stop, and gazed long at her friend as he stood before her, just off of the trail as if he half expected her to pass without a word. "I wondered if I would see you before my departure. I had hoped I would."

"You should know I could not let you go without saying goodbye at least once more." Haldir said with a weak attempt at a smirk.

"I am glad to see you." She sighed, drawing a tentative step toward him. She dropped her eyes, gnawing softly at her bottom lip as she did. "For I had feared that we might not part as friends."

"Lalaith," Haldir murmured as he drew toward her, and gathered her hands up lightly within his own. He smiled at her, though she could see behind his eyes, the pain still there, as fresh and raw as a new wound. "Fairest lady of Imladris. We will always be friends. You know that, do you not?"

"Ai, Haldir." Lalaith breathed, shaking her head. "I am amazed that you could forgive me."

"Forgive you?" he asked softly. "For following your heart's path? There is no need to forgive you, for you have done no wrong."

Lalaith smiled lightly, though her smile could not reach her sorrowing eyes. "You have always been able to cheer me, Haldir." She sighed, gently squeezing his hands. Warm and secure, they had always been, bearing soft calluses. "I pray that the Valar will bless you for your great heart."

"Perhaps, one day, they will." He breathed, and his smile trembled as his eyes fell away. His eyes rose again and met hers, shimmering with tears he would not let fall. His brows twitched as his hands dropped hers, and rose to lightly cup her face. "But I have already been blessed, for I have known you."

His thumbs gently brushed her face as he leaned down, gently kissing her on the cheek. His lips were soft and lingering upon her flesh, his breath warm. Then without another word, he pulled away from her, and moved away down the path from whence she had come.

Lalaith remained where she stood, one hand touching the spot upon her cheek that he had so lightly kissed. Her eyes searched the ground as she asked her heart questions it could not answer before she resumed her steps again toward the lower path where Arwen and the others waited.

Legolas slowed his mount to a light canter as the golden trees of Lothlórien closed over his head, and he drew in an appreciative breath of the clean sweet scent of the Golden Wood, though he did it with a measure of envy. For as he gazed about him at the light of the forest that lingered even in the dark of the night, as now, he could see how Lalaith might favor such a place as this, over his own home. His heart gave a fierce throb as he saw again, her face upon the surface of his thoughts. What would he do when he saw her again? He knew he would not be able to restrain himself from confessing all of his heart to her, but did she love him in return as he loved her? A breath of nervous anticipation swelled in his chest.

"Ah, what have we here?" The last voice Legolas wanted to hear, echoed from the trees above him as Haldir, with several of the Lórien guards dropped lightly from the trees overhead, upon the path before him.

"My lord, you grace us with your presence." Haldir replied, offering him a stiffened bow, his hand against his heart, though Legolas knew it was a forced politeness that the Marchwarden used.

"Enough with the pleasantries, Haldir." Legolas sighed. "Where is she?"

"She, my prince?" Haldir queried.

"Lalaith." Legolas seethed, his jaw growing taut beneath his flesh. "I have come to see her."

"You missed her, my lord." Haldir returned, and Legolas could hear the grating of his voice, though Haldir fought to keep it smooth. "She left Lothlórien with the sons of Elrond, only this morning, bound for Imladris."

"She did?" Legolas asked, unable to keep a strain of hope from his voice which Haldir heard, and crushed his teeth together as he forced his tepid smile to remain upon his face.

"Do you wish to speak to her kin, perhaps?" Haldir offered, his politeness forced and wooden. "The Lady Galadriel could relay to her a message, if you wish it."

"Very well." Legolas returned, drawing out the small bag of jewels from within his jerkin, and testing its weight within its hand. Galadriel could be trusted with this small gift. She would see it safely to its rightful owner. "Take me to her."

"As my lord wishes." Haldir said with a stiff bow, his eyes never leaving those of Legolas.

"You came all this way, young Legolas, to bring Lalaith this?" Galadriel asked gently as she and her lord, Celeborn, stood a step above the Mirkwood prince, holding within her hand, the small bag of jewels he had just surrendered into her slender hand.

"Yes, my lady." Legolas returned with a nod as Galadriel's eyes search his, seeming to see all the depths of his soul in her gaze. Yet, hers was a gaze that would not judge harshly, what she found there.

"May I?" She asked softly, and at Legolas' nod, she gently tugged the bag open, and emptied into her palm, two sapphires, two emeralds, and two diamonds. At the sight of the small stones, she sighed softly, letting them sift about on her palm, clinking softly as they moved over each other.

"They were a gift to her from the young Pherian, Bilbo." Legolas explained softly. "From his share of the Dwarves' treasure."

"Two of each, and formed exactly as would fit the settings." Celeborn offered in a muted voice as he gazed down upon the six jewels, his eyes equally alight as Galadriel's. "This can only be the will of the Valar, my lady."

"Indeed, my lord." Galadriel agreed in a soft voice of awe, before she turned her eyes again on Legolas.

"Long we have sought such jewels as these for a gift we had made for Lalaith and-, another, long ago." She explained in a voice that had grown slightly husky as she glanced again at Legolas with a bright, piercing gaze. "Necklaces that have been waiting many centuries for such jewels as these. With your leave, might I have them set with these fair stones?"

Legolas assented with a nod, relieved that Galadriel could provide this gift for Lalaith with a fairer setting than a small leather bag.

"Thank you, my lady." He said with a bow and a grateful smile. "I do not doubt that Lalaith will be pleased."

"As, I hope you will, my young prince?" Galadriel asked, almost teasingly.

Legolas paused, uncertain of her meaning. "Yes, my lady," He murmured.

At this, Galadriel smiled, and offered a look filled with happy secrets to Celeborn, whose eyes returned his silent understanding.

The ever murmuring falls that surrounded Imladris soothed their ears like a the tones of a gentle lullaby as the mists of the tumbling rivers washed over the weary but elated faces of the three travelers as their horses' hooves hit the soft soil on the north side of the stone bridge just before the gate into the sheltered haven that was their home.

"Ah, it seems a millennium since we left." Elrohir sighed, standing enthusiastically in the stirrups as he threw a grin back at his younger cousin who followed behind the mounts of her older cousins. Lalaith smiled in return, feeling a sense of renewal and healing, and drew in a deep breath as she closed her eyes, drinking in the sweet scents of home.

"Father no doubt, has word of us." Elladan called back as he too flashed his younger cousin a grin. "He'll be in the courtyard to meet us."

But as they passed through the gate, only three people came forth to greet them, a young man, a stranger, Lalaith noted, with some measure of curiosity, and two younger stable hands who gathered the reigns of the horses in their hands as the three dismounted, and gently led them away toward the stables. The smiling stranger who remained, was not a child, so he could only be a visitor, for they had been gone in Lothlórien not many years. Above them in the Hall of Fire, many bright voices, and music echoed down, filling Lalaith's heart with light and anticipation. A feast was already under way, and the three new comers traded a questioning glance with one another before they turned their eyes upon the young man who had stopped in front of them, and was smiling shyly in welcome.

"Welcome, my lords, Elladan and Elrohir, and Lady Lalaith." He said in a mild voice, though edged with a slight accent as he offered them a polite bow. "I am honored to meet you at last. Lord Elrond, your father and uncle said you would arrive soon, and he bid me wait for you. Gandalf is here."

"Ah, Mithrandir!" Lalaith cried excitedly. She loved the visits of the grey-bearded wanderer, never tiring of his stories, or his gentle, kindly manner.

"Yes, my lady." The young man nodded, his eyes twinkling as he smiled at her. "And he has brought a friend with him, one of the Pheriannath, named Bilbo Baggins."

"Indeed?" Elladan grinned. "It is no surprise. Mithrandir always brings along some curiosity or another."

"They were both there with us, at the LonelyMountain. Bilbo had come with the Dwarves, and Mithrandir met us there." Elrohir added. "We must have arrived home just as they did, for when they parted from us, they took the long way around Mirkwood on the north road. Which is fortunate for us." He nudged Lalaith in the shoulder. "For you will like Bilbo, Lalaith. Rather squeaky and excitable. Much like you."

Elrohir raised his brows as Lalaith shot him a mock scowl, and they with Elladan shared a chuckle to which the young man easily joined in.

"They are with Lord Elrond in the Hall of Fire now," said the young man, turning his head to beckon over his shoulder. "And he bid me have you join them when you arrived."

As the youth turned his head, Lalaith's smile fell away at the sight of his unusual ears. The tips were blunted, round ended like a little mouse's, instead of tapering to a point as they ought.

"Ah, but you are the son of the Lady Gilraen!" Elladan breathed, his voice betraying sudden awe.

"Ah, little Ara-," Elrohir blurted, but at a swift nudge from Elladan, finished, "yes, you are much bigger than when we saw you last. It is easy to forget that mortals mature much more quickly than do the children of our race."

"Yes, my lord," the young mortal answered, turning his eyes again to the three Elves. "My mother brought me here when I very small, before I can remember, to live under the care of your father." He shot a grin toward Lalaith. "And in that, we have much in common, you and I, my lady. From what I have heard. Though, I must confess, I knew not of your existence before this morning. For Lord Elrond has only spoken to me of his sons."

And with these words, the young mortal offered her a gallant bow, and the crook of his arm. "But what I have heard from what can only be rumors of you, my lady, the stories do not do you justice."

"Rumors, my lord?" Lalaith asked as she took his proffered arm, and with the brothers trailing behind, followed the young mortal's lead upon the path that wound upward toward the Hall of Fire above.

"Since my coming, when I was so small a child that I cannot easily remember, I have heard tale, from many of your uncle's people of a maiden of Imladris whose beauty rivals that of Lúthien Tinúviel of old. As I have not met her before this day, I can only guess that you are she, for I can think of no other but the fabled Tinúviel whose beauty could rival yours."

Behind her, Lalaith could hear Elrohir stifle a chuckle, followed by a harsh nudge from Elladan's elbow, but she hardly heard. Her eyes fell as color darkened her cheeks at the young mortal's praise. And for a moment, fear touched her heart that his intentions would become as Haldir's had. But when she dared to lift her eyes to his, she could see no hidden desire veiled behind his gaze. His eyes shone clear and bright with admiration, but only that which one might show who hoped for a dear friendship, and nothing more.

Lalaith returned his wide, easy grin, with a soft smile of her own, and released a sigh of relief.

"You have the advantage of me, my lord, though you only learned of me today." Lalaith said, to which the mortal softly chuckled. "For I know nothing of you, or of your lineage, nor from whence you have come."

"What would you know, my lady?" He asked.

"Well, perhaps," she chuckled, "your name?"

"_Ai_, my lady, forgive me!" The young Man cried, shaking his head in consternation. "My father I know little of, for he died before my memory can recall. But my mother is named Gilraen. And by your uncle, and all who know me, I am called Estel."


	30. Chapter 30

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 30**

**February 23, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 30

The path beneath his feet dipped and turned as Haldir strode along beneath the stalwart, majestic Mallyrn that towered above him. He was looking for something, though he did not know what.

But then his footsteps stilled as laughter, clear and joyful, rang about him, echoing through the trees. He spun, seeking the source.

"Haldir!" The maiden's voice laughed once again, echoing about through the trees, its source unseen. "Come find me!"

"Where are you?" Haldir laughed, his eyes darting about, though he could see nothing.

"Here I am!" The maiden's voice cried, now from behind him, and he spun to catch a flashing glimpse of skirt as a maid darted between two trees and disappeared.

"Wait!" He cried out, hurrying to dart after her upon the path she had taken, a narrow, rarely used trail jutting over with the roots of Mallyrn.

"Come, Haldir!" The maiden's voice rang clear and high, though he could not see her, as the scamper of her feet faded ahead of him. "Come find me!"

His heart tugged her in the direction she had gone, and suddenly he knew. She was the one whom he had sought. Knowing this, he darted after her fading voice that yet called for him to come, following the narrow path as it wove deeper into the forest.

Her laughing voice grew further and further away. He was beginning to fear he would never catch her, when the path suddenly widened, and a clearing opened to him. One he knew well, though it had been many years since he had come last to this place. A high wall of tumbled stones edged one side of the clearing, with a small waterfall clattering down its face into a pool of water so clear that he could see the sandy white bed beneath the sparkling surface.

A maiden stood with her back to him, her golden hair spilling down her back and catching in the wind as the hem of her silver skirt fluttered about her feet.

"I've caught you, at last, my love." He breathed, drawing to a stop, and smiling.

"Indeed, you have." The maiden sighed brightly, and slowly turned, her bright eyes finding his, shining with joy as her lips once again parted in a merry laugh.

Her laughter was contagious, and Haldir found himself beginning to chuckle along with her.

"_Ai_, Lothirien." Haldir murmured at last, his laughter fading to a gentle smile as he studied the familiar lines of her face. Seeing her eyes and smiling lips, so soft to touch, and knowing that he loved her, was as natural as the rising of the sun. Emotion that had been ever present, though dormant in his heart awoke now, and grew within him, stretching tendrils of light through his body. And he wondered at why he could have ever thought he would see another maid here. Lothirien was his love, she had always been. For he had loved her all his life, even when he had not known that he had.

"I have been a fool." He whispered softly as Lothirien smiled and came toward him. He ached to reach out to her. To take her into his arms.

"Yes, you have." She laughed lightly, shaking her head at him. "But you have ever been a good hearted fool. All is forgiven."

Haldir sighed at her words.

"Will you come to me now?" she asked him, reaching out her hands, and beckoning to him. "Will you let me love you, as I have all my life? Will you love me?"

Haldir took an eager step toward her, yearning to go to her as she bid, to draw her softness into his arms, to claim the sweetness of her mouth with his. But he hesitated as the truth of his senses filtered through his sleeping mind. This was not real.

"This is a dream," he muttered, drawing back, and forcing his arms to fall at his sides. For to allow himself to admit his love to this dream maiden, to hold her as he wanted to hold Lothirien, would only make the pain more vivid when he woke to the reality that was the waking world, knowing she cared for him only as a friend could. For how else could she have stood faithfully by, watching his pursuit of Lalaith? Had she loved him, the pain would have driven her away from him.

"You are not real. This-," he glanced about himself at the bright colors of his dreamscape, and shook his head, "this is not real."

"Haldir?" The dream maiden breathed, her face furrowed now with timid fear. "Do you not love me?"

"Lothirien cannot love me." He returned in answer. "I am too great a fool, and she knows it. She would choose someone far more worthy of her."

"Haldir, please." The maiden began. "That is not true. Surely you-,"

But what words she meant to speak he did not hear as Haldir thrashed suddenly awake, and jerked upright. He blinked at the moonlit darkness of his chamber, and shivered as the cool night air that filtered through the slatted screen of his flet brushed across his bare chest where he sat shivering on his bed, his crumpled coverlet fallen to his waist. A cold sweat had broken out on his skin, and he shivered again as he remembered his dream.

A sick feeling gripped him in the pit of his stomach as his curled his knees up, and buried his bent head in his arms. He had lost Lalaith, and the pain had been difficult to bear, knowing that she had not, indeed could not love him back.

But now as he sat with his mussed hair clenched in his fingers, and his forehead bent against his knees, he realized that the pain of losing Lalaith would be nothing like the pain of losing Lothirien, a maiden he had never even pursued, nor even truly could lose, for he had never tried to win her. Yet as he thought of her now, pictured her soft, loving eyes that had so often teased him just over the edge of his consciousness, his heart ached. As he thought of her now, of the years of her loyal friendship, the centuries of familiar, comfortable companionship that they had shared, he ached for her, as his lungs ached for breath. And he knew as with the sharp pain of a blade in his chest, that he loved her.

But now, it was too late. He could not have such a generous, gentle hearted maiden as Lothirien. She would not want him, for he was too far beneath her, and he knew it, as well as she. And at this realization, the black pit that had formed in his stomach grew into an ache of despair. Were he ever to hope for her, she would reject him without another thought, as would be her right.

He lifted his head, and surveyed the moonlit interior of his room. He could never let her know of what his heart contained. He would need to learn to steel himself to his feelings for her if he were to learn to survive, so that he could serve his people.

"You are a fool, _Marchwarden_," he snarled bitterly at himself. "An abominable fool."

He flung himself again against his pillow, though he knew sleep would not come easily now. "And now, all you can hope for, is to watch Lothirien lose her heart to another, more deserving of her. You have nothing to look forward to but an eternity of loneliness."

And as this thought entered his mind, a thick lump of emotion formed in his throat, and a single tear stung his eye.

… …

Lothirien smiled as a spear of sunlight pierced the plaited branches of the Mallyrn above her head, and lighted, warm and soothing, upon her face as she strolled along the path that led toward the high Mallorn where Lady Galadriel's chambers were perched. A basket of freshly picked flowers she held balanced against one hip swayed lightly as she walked, making her way toward the bottom-most step upon the staircase that twined upward toward the high arch roofed chambers where the lady and her lord, Celeborn, dwelt.

It seemed that in the past few days, the smallest thing, a butterfly perched delicately upon the pink lip of a flower, or a solitary beam of sunlight resting before her upon her path, could cheer her heart all day. For Lalaith had refused Haldir's proposal, and returned home with Elrond's sons. Haldir had been bitterly hurt, and Lothirien still ached for him. But he would heal; Lothirien would see that. He still sulked. He still moped. But he still lived, and his heart would one day inevitably recover. And for that, Lothirien found herself singing through her days.

She had never disliked the fair maiden from Imladris, but now, with Lalaith gone, the hope that Lothirien had once thought was dead within her heart, came again into flower. And the elaborate daydreams she had once entertained of a life beside Haldir returned. She found herself dreaming shamelessly of him again, both morning and night. And she smiled at the path beneath her feet as she recalled the dream she had experienced the night before. One which she could not fully remember, but which she knew had included Haldir. He had been chasing her through the trees as they had once done when they were only Elflings. And she vaguely recalled the pond that was their own secret place known only to the two of them, and where Lothirien had always fantasized to be the setting of their first kiss.

She glanced downward at herself, at the creamy white gown she had chosen that morning, hoping that when she and Haldir met, as she expected they would upon the steps, that she would be pretty to him. That he would pause and trade trivial pleasantries with her, perhaps talk to her a moment, was her hope. And, with good luck and the blessings of the Valar, perhaps she would be able to ask him to join her for supper. Only because she was his friend of course, and was concerned about him and his happiness since Lalaith had gone. He would bring his brothers to her flet with him of course, so the setting would not be so intimate and close as it would be in the future after they had spent more time together, without the distraction of Lalaith to take his attention away. Then surely, after enough time had passed, and they had enough chances to be alone together in each other's company, he would finally realize what his feelings truly were for Lothirien. And then-, she would never be alone again.

The first step was already at her feet, and Lothirien paused suddenly, realizing her thoughts had been carrying her away with them, making her barely aware of the path she was on, and her planned mission. But now, the sound of men's voices and light footfalls above her jerked her back to reality, and she felt her heart suddenly collapse in fear within her.

She gulped her fear back, and straightened her shoulders as Haldir and his brothers, Rumil and Orophin came round the golden white trunk of the Mallorn, and into her view.

Haldir had a cloak about his broad shoulders, and weapons belted across his back. They were off to guard the borders. Lothirien gulped swiftly. His eyes had been down as he worked at a knife upon his belt, but at the sight of her, his gaze flew up to meet her own, and his footsteps faltered. His face visibly paled.

"Oh, Haldir!" Lothirien breathed, feigning surprise. She barely noticed as Rumil and Orophin cast each other a look of understanding, and continued past her off the steps and down the path, disappearing around the trunk of a young Mallorn. "I had not expected to see you."

"What are you doing here?" He breathed, his tone low and flat.

Lothirien's brows lifted. This was an unusual greeting for him. But then perhaps he was only surprised to see her.

"I am one of Galadriel's servants, Haldir. Or have you so soon forgotten?" She smirked up at him. "I thought she might like some new spring flowers. What are _you_ doing here?"

"We have just received our orders, and are off toward the Naith." He offered her a crisp nod, and continued past her down the stairs. "Farewell, lady."

_Lady_? Lothirien gaped, turning to stare at his broad back in silent bewilderment.

"Haldir, wait!" She cried, leaping from the bottom most step and darting after him. "Can you not spare a short moment-,"

Haldir paused upon the trail, and only half turned toward her. He drew in a deep breath, as of someone who strained to keep his patience in check.

At the very sight of his clear reluctance to speak to her, Lothirien paused, and shrank back, her eyes growing suddenly wide as a great void, black and hollow grew within the center of her being. What was the matter with Haldir? Why was his behavior taking this turn? Had Lalaith's rejection hurt him more than she had at first thought?

"Forgive me, Lady Lothirien." He returned, his retort stingingly sharp. "But my duties, which are quite pressing, are calling me elsewhere."

"But-, Haldir-, I, uh," she gulped hard, feeling to her great consternation, tears welling in her eyes. "Lalaith's rejection must truly have hurt you badly."

"I am recovered well enough." Haldir muttered to the ground, his voice softening, but only somewhat. "My heart was not broken beyond repair. Though I do thank you for your concern."

"Could I not come with you? At least for a short distance? We could talk-," her words faltered and fell away.

With his back turned to her, Haldir crushed his eyes shut. She clearly did not understand his suddenly aloof behavior. And Haldir heard the hidden pain within her words that unknown to her, broke his heart afresh and caused wretched pain to crackle along his veins.

"I have my duties to guard the borders. You have your own duties to Lady Galadriel." he breathed, keeping his eyes focused ahead. "Our paths take us in different directions. And there is after all, little that we have to talk about."

Behind him, Lothirien said nothing to his words, and Haldir drew in a deep breath. Her thoughts could be leading her on any number of paths. She could be hurt, or angry at him, and the thought wrenched his conscience. She had, after all, done nothing of herself to warrant his cold words.

Regret surged in his heart, and he spun quickly. "Lothirien, forgive me, I-,"

But she was nowhere to be seen. All that remained to give any indication that she had ever been nearby, was a small woven basket tipped sideward upon the ground where it had fallen and rolled, the flowers it had once contained, spilled forlornly across the path.


	31. Chapter 31

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 31**

**February 24, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 31

Lothirien sighed where she lay, curled like a child upon her wide bed, then lifted a hand, and studied her long tapered fingers as they shivered and trembled with a cold chill in spite of the warm, lingering sunlight that filtered through the screen of her flet above her.

Inside of herself, nothing existed but a black void, where hope and joy lay withered and dead. And within that void, Lothirien could hear the labored thumping of her heart, slow and sonorous. Her chambers were silent, for since the passing of her father and mother, she had been the only occupant, living here alone for the many decades they had been gone.

Brushing a trembling hand beneath her eyes, she glanced at the empty spot beside her, and closed her eyes tightly against the renewal of silent tears that flooded forth. For so long, she had imagined him there, laying peacefully beside her when she dropped to sleep at night, or watching her with his smiling eyes when she woke in the morning. But now, with the wrenching realization that Haldir did not love her, such an image no longer brought the warm hope it once had.

Lothirien offered another ragged sigh. How could she find the strength in herself to continue when her mother had not? When she had simply chosen to lay herself down beside her the grave of her beloved, and follow him to the Halls of Mandos.

She had chosen to die and join him, rather than remaining behind, alone. And now, if Lothirien allowed herself to fade as her mother had, she would join them, and there she would-,

Lothirien caught a sudden ragged breath in her throat at the wretched realization, and though the effort to do so was great, she shook her head, and forced herself to sit up.

Haldir did not love her, it was true, but-, what was to be gained by allowing herself to fade away, and pass beyond the shores of this grief torn land? Her mother had done so, to join her father but if Lothirien were to fade away and join them, it would only take her farther away from him. The one she loved.

Lothirien set her jaw hard at this sudden realization, and scrambled out of bed, forcing her weight upon her legs. She swayed as she stood, but she steeled herself, and stood straight. She could not allow herself to give into her grief, for her heart bid her be near him. And though she could not have him, she would be as close to him as he allowed.

As her heart returned to the words they had shared at their last meeting, her eyes came to rest upon a wooden chest beside the wall. One that had been hers from the time she had been a child.

"_I have my duties to guard the borders. You have your own duties to Galadriel, our lady. Our paths take us in different directions_," Haldir had said. And thus, if that was so, perhaps a change of her own life's path might take her closer to Haldir, and her ache would be eased somewhat, if she was allowed near him.

With that thought, she moved across the room to the wooden chest, and dropped to her knees beside it, lifting up the lid, revealing folded robes and dresses as well as some of her father's things that she had been unable to part with upon his death.

Drawing out a pair of men's breeches, she stood and held them up to herself, wondering a moment, before a resurgent hint of hope lifted her once heavy heart and she found herself snatching up a loose tunic as well, as the hint of a smile began to cross her face.

…

A resounded knock sounded upon her door as Lothirien tugged upon the hem of her tunic, smoothing the loose garment over her slender frame, and her eyes turned at the sound, followed by the soft brush of a door opening.

"Lothirien?"

Her heart leaped in her throat at the voice, that was Lady Galadriel and as she glanced down at herself, her heart began to hammer.

"Lothirien?" The voice was closer, and filled with a measure of concern as the lady tentatively entered the maiden's rooms.

"Ah, my lady." Lothirien gulped as Lady Galadriel in all her regal splendor, at last swept quietly into her bedchamber, and her soft gaze swept across the room, alighting at last upon Lothirien.

Lothirien gulped, waiting for her lady to laugh to see the maiden clad in men's garb, her own dress flung haphazardly across her unmade bed.

But no laughter came forth. Instead, Galadriel smiled with the look of one whose fear had been comforted.

"I had feared for you, dear Lothirien."

"Oh, my lady." Lothirien murmured, dropping her head. "I had not meant to be absent today. But-,"

With a step that was almost silent, Galadriel swept near, and Lothirien felt two slender fingers upon her chin lifted her face up. Galadriel's ageless eyes searched her own, touched with a troubled thought.

"You have the strength in you, Lothirien." Galadriel murmured softly. "To follow the path you are meant for."

Lothirien did not answer, though she drew in a ragged breath, and released it in a soft sigh.

To this, Galadriel smiled, and touched Lothirien cheek with a motherly caress. "Come." She urged gently.

"Yes, my lady." Lothirien nodded submissively, though she could not begin to understand the meaning of Galadriel's enigmatic, though kindly words. And with this, she followed Galadriel's steps as the Lady of the Golden Wood led her from her flet, and downward around the steps that twisted around the Mallorn in which her home had been perched, and to the grassy path at the base of her steps.

Beneath the silver light that spilled about her, Lothirien's eyes glanced with questions at a filled quiver that had been set against the jutting roots of the tree as if awaiting its owner, and a strung bow that lay nearby.

"My lady?" Lothirien queried softly as Galadriel caught up the weapons, then turned to her, holding them out in offering.

"These are for you." She murmured quietly, surrendering them into Lothirien's startled hands.

"But why-,"

"It would not do, to guard our borders without such weapons, do you not agree?"

Galadriel asked, her voice lilting in a teasing tone.

"Yes," Lothirien gasped, "but-,"

"My lady!" A man's voice cut her off as Thalion, an Elf Lothirien knew, came darting near, slightly breathless as he drew to a stop, and offered Galadriel a low bow. "You sent for me?"

"I did." Galadriel returned, gesturing to the maiden beside her who stood unsure. "You are acquainted with Lothirien, daughter of Alcarion, yes?"

"Yes, my lady." Thalion said, offering a nod to her as well.

"Lothirien has chosen to leave my service, and join the border guards." Galadriel murmured smoothly. And while Thalion's brows rose slightly, and Lothirien's eyes darted to the lady's face, Galadriel's expression changed not at all.

"She possesses training and skill enough to do this, for Haldir himself has taught her. I wish for you to be her guide and mentor, as your duties take you near the Marchwarden often, and she will-, benefit from that nearness." Galadriel finished. "Will you do this?"

"Yes, my lady." Thalion agreed swiftly with a dutiful nod. And with a short smile at Lothirien, he asked, "I will show you the way, if you are prepared to begin now?"

"I-," Lothirien stuttered momentarily, before she gulped back her surprise at the suddenness of everything, and nodded, "I am."

But before she could start after Thalion, she felt a gentle hand upon her arm, and she turned to see Galadriel's eyes shining with the light of many centuries of gathered wisdom.

_You will gain your heart's desire, Lothirien_. Galadriel's words spoke to her mind, though her softly smiling lips said no words. _This path may be hard to tred now, but it will not fail to lead you aright, one day._

At these silent words a surge of hope swell in her heart, and Lothirien offered Galadriel a smile of thanks as she turned away, and followed after Thalion's lead, away through the trees.


	32. Chapter 32

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 32**

**February 25, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 32

"Ai, Estel!" Lalaith groaned as a breeze wafted gently through the golden air of the early evening, and sifted passed the two companions as they walked arm in arm along a path beside the whispering flow of a small river as it meandered slowly through the vale of Imladris. She brushed a hand against the dampness that had collected beneath an eye, and smiled. "I can not understand why I miss Bilbo so. Do you think he will ever return to visit us?"

"How could he not?" Estel laughed, scampering ahead toward a tree where a vine entwined rope swing hung low beside the river. He hopped upon it, and swung in a wide arch out over the water, before he leaped again to the ground and rejoined her. Pressing his forehead close to hers, he whispered furtively, "With you here? Surely he'll return one day. He grew very attached to you, and you to him, if I am not mistaken."

"Pah, Estel!" Lalaith laughed as she pushed her hands against his chest, shoving him a step backward. "He and I could not even understand each other! I am surprised he seemed so interested in me."

But secretly, Lalaith was pleased at Estel's words. For in truth, she could not remember meeting, even among the Elflings of her people, a creature so beguiling as the little Hobbit she had met her first night upon returning home.

With her appearance, and her cousins' in the Hall of Fire, there had been a joyful disruption of noise in the already gathered crowd. Elrond, with Gandalf at his side, had risen to greet them, and she had met them with great enthusiasm. She had not realized, until her return, how terribly she had missed her uncle, and had only narrowly avoided crying before everyone when she found herself enveloped in Elrond's embrace. And then Gandalf had greeted her, in his cheery, grandfatherly manner, his gnarled hands yet strong and warm as they caught hers within them. Bilbo had not stood to greet her, but it was only because he was half drowsing already.

Lalaith had felt great fondness for Bilbo from the first appearance of him, half asleep upon a window seat, his head lolling upon the sill. His head was covered in a mop of wood brown hair, his pudgy frame clothed in a great coat over a small shining shirt. Mithril, it seemed, while breeches that reached only halfway down his calves, exposed large hairy feet.

And though he had not understood her, nor she him, yet he had seemed to like her immensely from their first meeting, and they had formed a close friendship in spite of the short time he had spent in Rivendell. It had been with a lump in her throat that she had bidden Bilbo the Hobbit and Gandalf farewell, that very morning as they had departed out through the gate of Imladris, to return to Bilbo's home in the far away Shire.

"You shall teach me of the tongues of Men, will you not, Estel, so that when Bilbo comes again to Imladris, I can speak to him?" She asked, tentatively sitting upon the seat of the rope swing, and pushing herself lazily about with the tips of her feet. She ran her hands appreciatively over the vine entwined ropes, remembering who had hung it here for her, in centuries now past, when she had been only a child.

"I shall." Estel promised, grasping the ropes, and gently swinging her back and forth. "But by then, I do not doubt, Bilbo will know your tongue, as well, Lalaith."

She sighed at the thought of Legolas, hardly hearing what her friend had said in return, and grew suddenly despondent, the rhythmic creaking of the swing and the settling noises of birds and the clatter of water lending itself to her sudden melancholy.

"Why, Lalaith." Estel breathed gently, drawing the swing to a stop, and resting a hand upon her shoulder. "Why this sudden despondency?" He asked at her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Legolas. He is a prince in Mirkwood. The son of King Thranduil." Lalaith sighed. "I miss him."

"Why so sad, though?" Estel asked, rotating the swing so that she would face him.

"We did not part well, when I left Mirkwood, and it was my fault." She sighed.

"Is he your love, then?" he asked in his forward, youthful manner, his eyes wide with innocent curiosity.

At the word Lalaith had been skirting for years when she thought of Legolas, her heart nearly stopped in her chest.

"Ah, oh, well, that is-,"

Estel smiled at her sudden discomfort, and did not press her. "I think I know somewhat of how you feel." He sighed, drawing back as she rose to her feet, and slipped her arm once again through is as they continued upon the path they were upon. "Sometimes, when I am alone, and I find my thoughts wandering, I find myself-," he sighed in a low growl. "Oh, you would think me a fool."

"No I wouldn't." Lalaith insisted, half turning to look at him.

"Well," he sighed low, and continued, "Would you indeed not think me a great fool, Lalaith, if I told you that sometimes I feel as if I miss someone I've-, never met?"

At the words he had used, Lalaith stopped suddenly, and turned to gaze at him fully, so that she could better see his expression. Sad he seemed for the moment, lonely, but not entirely hopeless. And it suddenly struck her, his expression was like Arwen's had been, that night long ago, when she had confided in Lalaith, the same emotion.

"No, not at all." She breathed thoughtfully. "Not at all, Estel."

He studied her eyes, and she grinned as his despondency grew slowly back into a smile again.

"I am glad I know you, Lalaith." Estel sighed, clasping his fingers through hers, and pressing an affectionate kiss to her brow. "We have not known each other long, but it seems as if we have known each other forever. You are like the sister I have never had."

"And you have become as a brother to me, my dear Estel." She returned, smiling with a sigh as she tipped her head, and rested it upon his sturdy shoulder as they continued upon the path together beneath the slowly reddening sky of evening.

High above their heads, upon a spacious veranda that looked down upon the path they strolled unhurriedly along, Elrond stood watching, his hands pressed tightly against the balustrade, his eyes stern and unsmiling.

His eyes narrowed as he saw the youthful Estel press a kiss to the maiden's smooth brow, and with a sudden burst of energy, pushed himself away from the balustrade, and strode swiftly away.

…

"Lalaith?"

"Yes, Uncle Elrond?" Lalaith asked, only half listening as she set the wine glass she had been sipping at, down before her plate, and began absently stabbing at slices of spiced apple upon her plate. Lifting her eyes she glanced at the studied gaze of the lord of Imladris. He did not look happy, and at his countenance, the young maiden straightened quickly, turning the full of her focus upon his.

Lalaith bit her lower lip, wondering if she had committed some infraction that she could not remember. "What is it?"

At her worried look, Elrond slowly smiled, a gentle, though somewhat sad smile as he studied the golden haired maiden who was as a daughter to him.

"Will you come with me a moment?" He asked, rising to his feet, and offering her his hand. "I have a matter of which I must speak with you, alone."

Lalaith nodded, feeling her heart hammering as she accepted his hand, and allowed him to help her to her feet. Gnawing her lip nervously, she followed Elrond's lead as he led her through the high arching pillars out of the airy dining hall, and onto the veranda.

"You and Gilraen's son, have grown close, this last week since you have been home," he murmured as they reached the balustrade.

Lalaith glanced away at his words, back through the line of carven, vine entwined pillars that edged the balcony, and to the young mortal, Estel. He sat at the table near her empty place beside his mother, the Lady Gilraen, a soft eyed mortal woman, whom Lalaith had grown to like almost as much as her son, Estel. She was gentle hearted, and lovely, in spite of the lines that were beginning to furrow her fair face, and the touch of grey that was beginning to lace itself through her dark hair. At Lalaith's glance, Estel raised his eyes, and smiled, lifting his glass in a silent salute to the Elf maiden.

At the gesture, Lalaith heard Elrond draw in a low breath, and she turned back to him, seeing a stern light sparking in his eyes, as his jaw tightened slightly, and he turned to look over the valley below, bathed in the silver shadows of night.

"We have grown to be good friends, uncle." Lalaith confessed. "It is as if we are kindred souls, somehow."

She spoke these words with a soft smile, but this only served to tightened Elrond's jaw all the more, as his fingers dug into the stone of the railing.

"You are not growing too close to him, are you, my niece?" he hissed.

Lalaith frowned slightly as Elrond spoke, taken aback by the impassioned tone of his words. But she understood well the meaning behind his words. Elrond's father and mother, of mortal and Elf kind, had long before, passed beyond the borders of the world. And his own brother Elros, in centuries long past, had chosen mortality over eternal life. He had given his love to one of the daughters of Men, and though his children lived on in the Men who were of the blood of Númenor, Elros had been dead these many millennia.

"I have seen too much loss in my own life. I do not wish to endure it again!" Elrond murmured in a fierce whisper, turning his gaze swiftly back to her own.

Lalaith gaze at her uncle, unblinking as she absorbed his words. His face was stern and unsmiling, yet his eyes still held a touch of tender concern for her.

"Oh, uncle." Lalaith sighed, reaching out and resting her hand upon Elrond's. She sighed as Elrond smiled softly, and gently squeezed her hand in return. "You need not worry for me. Estel has become as a brother to me. Nothing more. Though I know of a surety that the maiden who is destined to hold his heart, will be blessed indeed. For he is noble and good. Estel is young, but there is greatness in him. I can see it."

"Young Estel is his father's son." Elrond murmured, his voice once again returned to a thoughtful tone.

"And who was his father?" Lalaith asked, her curiosity suddenly piqued. For though she had met the lad's mother, the Lady Gilraen, a fair and noble woman, no word had been given her, on who his father could ever have been.

At this question, Elrond looked again upon Lalaith, his gaze again stern and grave. "Perhaps I shall tell you," Elrond began, his words low. "After all, your cousins both know. Though I must beg of you to speak of this to no one, most especially to Estel himself."

Lalaith gulped and nodded, searching her uncle's fathomless eyes.

"Estel's true name is Aragorn." Elrond murmured in a grave voice that held great import. "His father was Arathorn, son of Arador."

Lalaith's eyes narrowed at the list of names. They seemed familiar to her, but why, she was not certain.

"Arathorn was the chief of the Dúnedain. He went riding against the orcs years ago, when Elladan and Elrohir left Lothlórien for a time to ride with him, and he was slain in battle."

Lalaith sighed and nodded. She remembered now, from the tales her cousins had brought back to her and Arwen, in the Golden Wood. "Aragorn is his only child." Elrond murmured.

"And that would make Estel," Lalaith paused, "that is, _Aragorn_, the-," she gulped as the weight of what Elrond had told her settled firmly upon her mind.

"Is he the heir of Isildur?" She breathed, suddenly awed at the thought of it.

And as Elrond slowly nodded, Lalaith gulped and drew in a long, weighted breath.


	33. Chapter 33

**Lalaith's Younger Years - Chapter 33**

**March 3, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Chapter 33

The forest was quiet, with naught but the night noises of Lorien as Haldir paced along the edge of the flet. All was peaceful, but for the trouble that still roiled in his heart.

Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the cause of his unease, and though he cursed himself for lacking the ability, he could not turn and go to her, where she stood speaking with Thalion, and Rumil, their voices soft beneath the whisper of the wind.

Why had she chosen to leave Galadriel's service and come here, with the men? She was capable enough, Haldir knew, for he had been the one to teach her.

Now, though, he partly regretted it, for her being here, so close to him, only salted the already aching wound he carried. She didn't love him. She couldn't. Not after what he had done.

He could see the moonlight shining upon her hair where she stood with the other two, and his heart flopped in his chest at the sight of her. Even clad in men's garb, she was beautiful.

Sensing his eyes upon her, Lothirien glanced up, and at the sight of her gaze, he ducked his head, and looked away, as if in fierce concentration, through the trees. So he did not see the vague look of hurt that crossed her face before she steeled herself, and glanced back at Rumil, pretending to be deeply interested in what he was saying.

_Haldir_. At the sound of Galadriel's voice, soft in his mind, Haldir straightened.

_My lady?_ He returned in his thoughts.

_My faithful Marchwarden, do not let your pain become your master._

Baffled at her words, Haldir could not respond in his thoughts.

_You have always been slow to follow your heart, young Marchwarden._ Galadriel's voice continued in his mind. _But do not despair. One day, you will find the courage to follow where it leads_.

"What do you mean?" He wondered, suddenly realizing, only after he had spoken, that he had uttered the words aloud.

"Should it not be obvious Haldir?" Rumil asked, his voice somewhat perturbed.

"What?" He asked, spinning.

"I just said Lothirien is at an advantage, more than the rest of us, so it is good that we have her skill." Rumil said, with a roll of his eyes. "She is female thus, she is lighter, so she can climb higher, to see all the farther. That is what I mean."

"Oh." He muttered lamely, and cast a glance at Lothirien, but she had lowered her eyes, and would not meet his.

_Say something_. His heart urged, but a pang of fear struck him, and he could not obey.

_One day you will find the courage to follow your heart_. Galadriel's words echoed in his mind, and though he turned away, plagued with troubled thoughts, the vague hope they brought him, seemed as a cooling salve upon an aching wound.

"Ah, Estel," Lalaith sighed as she walked arm in arm with the young mortal beneath the waving branches of the trees of Imladris as the sun grew low in the sky, and filled the sky with a profusion of gold and crimson. "Estel, Aragorn, you seem somewhat troubled by the news my uncle gave you." She lifted her heard from his shoulder, and drawing up his large, calloused hand within both her small white hands, she studied the ring of Barahir that rested now upon his finger.

"Would you not be?" Estel, who was Aragorn, sighed, running his fingers over her own, before he pulled his hand away, to examine the ring for himself as if he were still surprised to see it there. "What would you think, were you in my place, Lalaith?"

"I think I would be as overcome as you are, now." She returned gently. "I am sorry I kept the truth from you, for so long. It was my uncle's wishes that my cousins and I not tell you who you were, until you were ready. For the Enemy has been seeking you."

"Ah, it was just as well." Aragorn released in a huff of air. "All is forgiven." He shook his head, and offered a mischievous glance at Lalaith. "But in truth, my heart does rejoice in knowing of this high lineage. For now, I feel somewhat more worthy of the friendship of such a fair Elven maiden as yourself."

Lalaith scoffed at this, and spatted his arm softly, though she felt a hint of truth in his words, behind his teasing tone.

"In truth Lalaith," he continued, his words growing somewhat serious, "you are very fair, as I have said. I have never met a maiden more lovely than you. If you could but see it for yourself, you would not question what Legolas feels for you."

At these words, Lalaith blushed furiously, and ducked her head from Aragorn's eyes.

"I met him, Lalaith," he pressed, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before he took a step ahead, and lifted an overhanging branch that dipped low above their path so that she could pass underneath, "during my travels with your cousins. And I spoke to him of you."

"What did you tell him?" Lalaith cried, lifting her eyes, and gazing into the young mortal's with a sudden fear.

"Nothing you would wish for me to withhold." Aragorn shook his head with a gentle smile, and pressed a hand to his heart with a slight bow to her. "For you have not even admitted to me, what you feel for him, though I have guessed." Aragorn smiled. "But I did tell him you thought of him often."

At his reassurance, Lalaith released a breath of relief, and smiled at him. The evening was slowly dimming, and the path they wandered aimlessly upon, was trailing through trees that were growing thicker over their heads as they walked. Ahead, some distance, it led to an open glade, but it was still far ahead of them, and not yet visible through the trees

"But he does deserve to be told, someday, do you not agree?" Aragorn asked gently, though his words were firm.

"Told what?" Lalaith muttered quietly, lowering her eyes. "After all, he is a prince, and I am only-,"

"A princess!" Aragorn groaned. "For it does not matter that you are not kin to Lord Elrond by blood!" He drew to a stop, turning her so that she would face him. "In truth, Lalaith, if you were not a maid, and if you were not my friend, I think I would pummel you to the ground for your stubborn blindness!"

Lalaith huffed and glanced away at this, but at a gentle touch from Aragorn's hand upon her arm, she looked reluctantly back at him.

"Please, Lalaith." He continued on a more gentle vein. "When I met Legolas, and spoke to him of you, you should have seen his eyes." Aragorn's gaze pled with hers, and she sighed at the beseeching look within his face. "He did not speak of it, but I think his feelings for you, are as yours for him."

"You would think so, for he and I have been friends for as long as I have been alive." She sighed. "He has a fondness for me, I am certain, but that is all, for I am unworthy of him."

"You truly think he does not love you?" Aragorn moaned and rolled his eyes, a gesture that brought a reluctant smile to Lalaith's face. "You who are more fair than Tinúviel of old?"

Grasping her hand within his, he continued walking, and as they moved beneath the woven branches of the trees, Aragorn smiled, and began to sing,

"_The leaves were long, the grass was green,  
>The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,<br>And in the glade a light was seen  
>Of stars in shadows shimmering.<br>Tinúviel was dancing there  
>To music of a pipe unseen,<br>And light of stars was in her hair,  
>And in her raiment glimmering.<em>"

Lalaith smiled at his words, and his efforts to cheer her, leaning her head against his shoulder, and closing her eyes as he sang.

"_There Beren came from mountains cold,  
>And lost he wandered under leaves,<br>And where the Elven-river rolled  
>He walked alone and sorrowing.<br>He peered between the hemlock-leaves  
>And saw in wonder flowers of gold-,<em>"

When Aragorn's words cut off suddenly, Lalaith lifted her head, and her eyes opened in silent question. But his eyes were not upon hers, and the gentle smile he had favored her with, had faded to a look of wonder as he gazed ahead of him as at a fair vision.

Furrowing her brow, Lalaith turned her eyes to follow his gaze, and when she saw the object of his attention, within the grassy glade beyond the trees ahead, her eyes lit up.

_Arwen_! Arwen was home! No word had been sent ahead of her return, but there she was, strolling alone in the grassy glade beneath the softened light of the moon that had just risen above the eastern hills, clad in a mantle of silver and blue.

Lalaith was near to bounding out into the glade, and crying out her welcome at her cousin's unexpected return, but at a touch of Aragorn's hand upon her arm, she stopped.

"Do you remember," he breathed in a voice much changed from moments before as a breath swelled his chest, and his eyes remained fixed upon the dark haired maiden before them, "when I told you of how I often felt as if I missed someone I had never met?"

She gulped, and wordlessly nodded, for she could bring no words to her mouth.

"Lalaith," he whispered solemnly, not moving his eyes from the maiden in the glade, "I have found her."

A surge of sudden emotion bubbled in Lalaith's blood at this confession, but whether she felt dread or joy, she could not say. So Lalaith said nothing as Aragorn gave her hand one last squeeze, and leaving her standing in the shadows of the trees, he strode into the clearing toward Arwen, calling out to her, "_Tinúviel! Tinúviel!_"

Lalaith gulped her sudden rush of emotions back as Arwen turned with a look of mild surprise upon her face at the appearance of the young mortal who walked out beneath the silver moonlight toward her. Through Lalaith's mind tumbled many thoughts, fears and questions. But when Arwen's bright eyes alighted upon Aragorn as he drew near to her, Lalaith's unease faded at the look of quiet trust that overcame her cousin's gaze, as if she too, had found the one for whom she had been seeking all her life.

"Who are you?" Arwen asked in a soft, nearly breathless voice. "And why do you call me by that name?"

Lalaith drew in a low sigh as Aragorn came to a stop before Arwen, and the two began speaking to each other, now in tones too low for her to hear. Lightening bugs flitting through the glade, and a solemn air seemed to surround the pair as Lalaith watched from the shadows. And as Aragorn smiled, and reached for Arwen's hand which she willingly gave into his own, Lalaith saw in her mind, the first meeting of Melian the Maia, and Thingol the Elf, the two lovers who had found each other so many ages past, in as fair and silver lit a glade as this. Solemn and sublime had been their first meeting, their hearts soothed with the quiet knowledge that their two souls created for each other, had found one another at last.

Lalaith sighed, hearing the ragged catch in her voice as her mind looked ahead to the years that were ahead, and saw what would come of this fated meeting. But when she brought her thoughts back to the present, and felt the joy that seemed to glow from the very skin of the lovers whose souls had been aching for each other, she felt a surge of happiness for them both. Perhaps if these two were meant for each other, then perhaps she and Legolas could one day-, she sighed and put the thought to rest in a corner of her mind.

Understanding their need to be alone, Lalaith turned away with a trembling smile, and not without a tear touching her eye as she cast back toward them a silent blessing, and made her way back the way she had come.


	34. Epologue

**Lalaith's Younger Years – Epilogue**

**March 4, 2004**

_Submitted By Lalaith-Elerrina_

Epilogue

Lalaith sat alone upon a stone bench sequestered in a small hidden corner of her uncle's gardens where greening vines twined up the wall at her back, and a cool breeze fanned the air. She drew in a breath of the cool sweet air, listening to the bright sounds of the rising morning, of birds in flight, and the distant, unceasing whisper of the falls as she rested her chin in her hand, and devoured eagerly, the words upon the parchment that had arrived the night before. The soft yellow paper still smelled of green growing things, and she drank in eagerly the scent that brought to her memory, visions of Legolas' face.

His familiar, well loved script spoke of small things, trivial things, and of how much he wished he had not missed her by only a few hours when she had departed Lórien. But that was not unusual, for over the many years since she had last seen him, in every letter he exchanged with her, contained some hint of disappointment at having only just missed her that day, now so many years past.

Her heart's beat quickened at what his deep regret might hint at. But she reminded herself that such a thing could not be. She was too far beneath him. There was too much unsurity hidden in the shadowed deeps of her memory. She could not allow him to love her when to do so, could be dangerous for him.

"I would not dare to be so bold as to ask you to come visit me again, after my foolish behavior when last you were here." His writing continued. "Nor would I wish for you to put yourself into danger, for there has been a new terror abroad in Mirkwood. This does not surprise you, does it, Lalaith? I would like to say it would surely not surprise Haldir. But that would be uncivil, especially when his parting words were most courteous when I returned home from the Golden Wood, that long ago day when I only missed seeing you by a few hours. But I have spoken of that before, and should not bore you with such repetition. As for this new threat, it has been called a ghost, but it is more than that, for I have seen it. A living creature it is, shiveled and starved, that runs along the ground, bent over, almost upon all fours. We have been tracking it, and when its threat is no longer here, perhaps you could come again to visit me if you wished to, and we could continue as we were, before all the strife came. Of course, it would be with your cousins, as guests of my father."

Lalaith smirked softly at this last statement, and her thoughts returned to that day when she had been with him alone, before the tomb of her nurse. He had been near to saying something of deep importance before Elrohir had come. Did he mean to finish what he was about to say, then? Lalaith did not dare to guess. But regardless of what hidden meaning there might be, she would not fail to show the letter to Elrond, and beg his leave to go. If not this year, then in some near season when all was not so dark in Mirkwood.

"Until we meet again, as I hope we may, some near season, Lalaith, I remain your eternal friend, Legolas."

"My lady?"

Lalaith gasped, and looked up into the eyes of Erestor, her uncle's chief steward, who stood before her, hands clasped as he patiently awaited her response.

Lalaith touched a hand to her cheek, wondering if her face was flushed, and managed to stutter, "Yes, Erestor? What is it?"

"I thought you might like to know, my lady." He said with a slim smile. "We have a guest. Newly arrived."

"Oh?" She asked, and had not yet begun to rise when she heard the padding of small bare feet upon stone coming from around the corner of her sequestered nook.

At the sound, she darted to her feet, just as a familiar face appeared, round and cheery, and somewhat teary eyed as his eyes met hers. His hair was somewhat more silver tinged than what she remembered, and he held a gnarled staff within his hand, but his eyes held the same merry sparkle she remembered.

"I knew you would return one day!" Lalaith cried, the hard notes of the Common Tongue feeling strange upon her tongue as they came from her lips.

"Hullo, Lalaith." Bilbo grinned, and threw his small arms around her neck as she dropped to her knees, and drew him into a warm, welcoming embrace.

…

Thanks for following Lalaith's Younger Years! Lalaith's version of ROTK, Lalaith Elerrina—Child of the Stars will begin soon.

If you have enjoyed these stories on , perhaps you will enjoy my own published writing, The Birthright, and The King's Heir by Loralee Evans. They are available on Amazon and other online bookstores.


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